His Majesty in Bed Like a Stalagmite of Flame
The mother dreams before his birth. She dreams
That she prefers to note her face as seen
Within the polished and the sharpened gleams
Upon a sword—not a mirror. This queen
Foresees from this that he will be a king
Of kings. She much prefers the sound of twang
From bows and arrows to a lute. To wring
The future from these dreams a seer sang
Predictions of an emperor. The birth
Brought quite another boy. He loved to see
Himself, his loveliness, his body’s worth.
He looked in mirrors for his high degree
Of beauty, wanting others to desire
His thrusting in their caves, a flesh-shaped fire.