deflated and defeated, the queen sends
her last men
with cobalt jackets
and argent insides
they arrive by capsule: bitter and ashen.
the soldiers start another battle
with the tender inflammation
of thinking and knowing and fearing.
alone in her palace, she cherishes the throne;
crown tightly gripped
her many jewels digging into
her frail skin.
she watches and prays and hopes
that alien infirmity and clinical
nights
will not seize her power.