Villain Horizon
Moles vibrate the world.
I lie in the soil and wait.
There’s a military reason
for their holes. Golden
Alexander, Golden Alexander,
your little golden head
will need some protection
when the heavens crumble.
A fish would tell you water,
but ask any mole—
darkness is the helmet
when darkness is the culprit
that will guard you most.
The trees step in close.
There are towers in their
shadows, full of forest flowers,
and beyond them, a whole
city built by blind things
that I govern with an eyeball
lest a modicum of sunshine
creeps in to untie you.