a single sheet of paper,

the paper bare, blank.

Xau considered how to proceed.

He had seen Li exhausted before,

but never shaken, discomposed.

“Li, go and see her.”

Li shook his head.

“It’s ten days away.

Thank you. No. I’m fine.

I’ll write to her.”

Xau touched Li’s hand,

repeated, “Go and see her.”

Li glanced past Xau to Tsung,

captain of the guards.

“I can’t. The timing is poor.

The midsummer ceremonies.”

“Your family lives near Qingzi?”

Li nodded.

“A happy coincidence,” said Xau.

“It is too long since we visited

the coast. We ourself will travel

to Qingzi for midsummer.”

Behind Xau, noisily, pointedly,

Captain Tsung cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty! It is far too late

to change your plans—”

“Either,” said Xau, looking at Li,

“you will accompany us to Qingzi

as part of your duty to us,

or you will go to your mother.”

“I’ll go. She asked to see me.”

Li’s face crumpled like a child’s.

“Stay as long as you need.”

Xau bowed very deeply,

pulled the door closed,

left Li what privacy he could.

RIDDLE: TWINS

A summer morning,

the tall paper windows opened wide,

the king, as was his custom,

taking breakfast with Queen Shazia,

their two children, his sister,

and all eight of his guards:

Prince Keng too excited to eat,

too excited to sit still

on the grand occasion

of his fourth birthday.

“Your Highness,” said Dao,

king’s guard, seated that morning

between King Xau and Prince Keng,

“now that you are four years old,

I have a question for you.”

“A question?” said Keng.

“Yes,” said Dao, bowing.

“Twin brothers, strong and thin,

both the same height,

always working side by side,

always eating the same food,

but skipping the soup.

Who are they?”

Keng frowned. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a riddle,” said Queen Shazia.

“A puzzle question. Think hard.

What eats food, but not soup?”

“A rabbit?”

Dao tapped the edge of Keng’s plate

with his chopsticks.

“Twin brothers, strong and thin,

both the same height—”

“Chopsticks!” shouted Keng.

ABSENCE

Five years in,

the truce with Innis frayed.

The Innish ambassador demanded

concessions of land, grain, silk.

King Xau declined.

When Xau left for the border,

war threatening,

Queen Shazia refused to miss him.

Xau often away;

no cause to admit

that this was any different.

She concentrated on her duties:

dined with dignitaries,

entertained envoys,

met Xau’s ministers.

Reserved her afternoons

for their two young children—

hard not to think of Xau

when she saw him in Keng.

Woke, a week after Xau left,

to a queasiness familiar

from her earlier pregnancies,

yet unanticipated. New.

A child Xau might never see.

With only her guards as witness,

she fought to compose herself

before her official wake-up.

Bowed, dry-eyed, to her attendants.

Carried out her duties.

LETTER TO HIS YOUNG SON

Dearest Keng,

Thank you for your painting of Micha.

She looks very happy.

King Xau’s brush blotted the sheet.

He paused, gazed at Keng’s picture:

a horse with four stick legs