With combs I
never use
I count
their teeth
Naming each
one of them
After kings without name
Without
beard and without golden crown
But I know
of their cloaks
A drip of
blood on snow
Melts
with the Spring
Floats
with a current
And trickles
into soil
To satisfy underground lakes
Appeasing my
thirst
While I
count teeth
Completely out-of-vogue
