God's Favorite

All that matters is to circle around the King. They could juggle in front of him or hang themselves so he wouldn't see them. They couldn't even get a grin. He is where you least expect it, in a pond to half-pelvis, a hand embracing the sun. He doesn't think about the issues, the consequences of his setbacks. It doesn't even touch his mind. The breeze takes care of it, makes his skin tremble under the spring that has bloomed. He is the most beautiful flower in the field, the one with sharp thorns.