“The Boy Prince” by Joseph Hutchison
One day you find the dream
that bore you on its back
has perched on your shoulders
and rides like the boy prince
aloft on Yorick. You see
all of it then: the dream’s
doom, your own grave end.
And so you tenderly lift it
down, letting it turn cartwheels,
romp and shout, while it still
believes it’s free. You need
little now but the will to steal off
across the motley autumn lawn
and away—hill after hill … borne
on the world’s cold shoulders.