He’s been in hiding since he was born.
He’s never learned his tribe’s dialect.
Like songbirds, whales, and naked mole rats,
Humans who don’t sound right can’t belong.
He’s quiet. He only speaks at night.
He recites lines into the stars’ ears.
He rules nothing, which means that he’s more
Than a big man, a chieftain, a king.
He’s the emperor of memory,
Brooding under invisible wings.