The right song could make a man’s reputation.

TRAINING: INJURY

The first day of March,

sun rising over rubble and ruin,

the remains of Jian-Jian,

city of a thousand bells,

those bells buried by earthquake

five weeks earlier.

On a frosty stretch of grass,

King Xau’s first training session

since he was injured,

his left hand swathed in bandages,

his guards hovering round him

like ruffled mother hens.

Xau wobbled from Leaning Horse to Crane

and two guards grabbed to steady him.

“Enough for today,” said Tsung,

captain of the king’s guards.

King Xau raised his eyebrows.

“We have barely begun.”

“Enough.”

∗

The first day of April,

the ruins of Jian-Jian overcast

as Xau ran round them with his guards,

looking down from the remnants

of the great city walls

on men clearing debris,

building roads, laying pipes.

Halfway round the city

a single drop of rain.

“Enough running,” said Tsung. “Walk.”

∗

The first day of May,

lilacs in bloom in the palace gardens:

purple, pale pink, a perfumed profusion,

King Xau back home,

sparring outdoors with Leong

while the other guards watched,

both Xau and Leong fighting one-armed,

the scars on Xau’s left hand

raised, red, rough.

Xau pivoted, kicked at Leong’s shin,

overbalanced onto the grass.

“Again!” said Leong.

“One leg only this time!”

One-legged, one-armed

Leong and Xau hopped about,

disabled by laughter.

The lilacs in bloom,

the kingdom safe,

the king safe.

MICHA

Beneath the silver river of stars,

under the spreading maple trees,

the mare pacing, grazing, pacing.

Two men watching. No words.

On the horse-cropped grass,

Micha lies down, whinnying.

Khyert, once a stableboy,

watches beside his king.

Under the wind-stirred leaves,

Micha strains, rests, strains.

King Xau looks a question at Khyert,

who nods back his reassurance.

Under the crescent moon,

emerging, wrapped in membrane,

one small foot, then another.

Two men watching.

Dawn floods the river of stars;

the foal born, the mare resting.

Khyert beside his king, his heart full.

A night worth a month of days.

THRESHOLD

As King Xau raised his hand

to knock on his guard’s door, doubt:

knocking would be an intrusion

upon Li’s scant privacy,

upon the portion of his life

not bent to his duty.

A dozen possible reasons

Li might have skipped

the daily training session.

None of them Xau’s business.

It was Li’s day off,

his one day off in the month.

It was Li’s day off,

yet Li never skipped training.

Three of Xau’s other guards

watched as he hesitated.

Xau weighed his worry

that Li was in trouble.

Knocked.

“Your Majesty. Come in.”

Li bowed, opened his door wide.

A chair. A table. A narrow bed.

Weapons, books, a stack of clothes.

Xau bowed, but did not enter.

Li’s uniform rumpled

as if he’d slept in it.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. My mother is ill.

I’m fine. I heard last night.

I was writing to her,

trying to write to her.”

Li gestured at the table,

inkstone, brushes, water,