Which species of bird is a drone?

An obsidian arrowhead

sticks out of Nataruk’s skull

like the boy emperor’s

decayed tooth

—a dumb relic of regret,

quarantined peace.

On prominent display:

seared columns of his fabled empire

bleached bones of his peacock throne.

There were times when his bush-black

hair harbored lightening;

when babies weren’t printable

like maps or ships;

a time when people knew that pulsating roar

of intelligence—now hovering, already gone—

was the sound of the man

eating himself.