King's bowl

On his knees, he crawls beside his dog, and a crown is slipping from his ashy hair. He hasn't been home for eleven days. Mother thinks he's lost in the sea, but in fact, he's always been under condition. A bottle is dragged from his throat, and a letter is rolled up. The rain has turned the streets into little ribbons, and now men turn to stone. In front of his home is a wall made of reeds, and insensibly the earth will come to rest. Where is his dog? has he not seen it fall from the sky? And eat from his lips the breath of creation.