loud and sweet

in the spring air.

“If it comes to that,” said Tsung,

“you must leave us.

That is the way of things.”

“No,” said Xau.

Tsung bowed very low then,

and Leong followed Tsung,

and about them the other guards bowed also.

Gan, a giant of a man,

six and a half feet tall

and heavily muscled,

stepped forward.

“Carry me, Your Majesty.

If you can manage that,

you can carry anyone.”

Xau half-staggered, half-walked

once round the clearing

with Gan over his shoulders,

before lowering Gan with a groan.

“Now we will eat,” said Xau.

“Except for Gan, who needs to diet.

Leong, help us—we have hurt our back.

We may never walk upright again.”

Leong knew the king was joking,

but he placed his fingers

on the king’s wrists anyhow

whilst the other guards set out

meat and pastries.

He took the king’s twelve pulses:

some agitation,

but the king well enough,

all well enough,

the air green-gold

beneath the leafing trees.

ROPE SKIPPING CHANT

Higher, higher,

demon fire.

Darkest night,

flaming bright.

Jump too low,

in you go.

Higher, higher,

demon fire.

Pick a town,

burn it down.

Ash and stone,

brick and bone.

Higher, higher,

demon fire.

NAMING

Had it been up to King Xau,

he would have been outdoors

with Shazia and their hundred-day-old son,

their son wrapped in a blanket,

safe in Shazia’s arms;

no sound but a river running over stone

as Xau told his son

(who would not have understood)

that he, Xau, was sorry,

sorry for every difficulty, every grief

that would ever come to his son,

and then Xau would have lifted

the end of the blanket

and tickled his son’s feet.

Instead King Xau stood in a hall

filled with dignitaries and their wives,

a sea of red silks and gold embroidery,

perfumed, painted, posed.

Beside him, Shazia,

their son safe in her arms,

wrapped in a red blanket.

When the time came,

Xau announced the baby’s name:

Tan Soon Keng.

(Xau looked at his sister as he spoke.

Keng had been their brother’s name,

Keng who had let Xau ride his horse,

who’d taught him to wield a sword,

who’d called him Little Crane.)

The ceremony over at last,

Xau put his arm around Shazia

and led her into the garden.

A cloudy autumn day,

the oak trees yellowing,

the palace staff waiting outside

to see the baby prince,

red ribbons round the men’s arms,

red ribbons in the women’s hair.

In the sky behind them, nearing,

a flock of cranes,

white with black wingtips,

long necks outstretched.

Men and women pointed, called out,

cranes a sign of good luck, long life.

Xau could not speak,

could not move—

where the cranes flew

he saw his brother,

saw him in the quick upward flick

of the birds’ wings,

in the gaps of air between,

in the patterning of cloud.

His brother’s voice under the wind,

heard only by Xau,

offering benediction—

Xau’s throat raw, his sight blurred