Museum of Hostages at Katzenstein Castle

TAYLOR LOY

We follow the paths of madmen
who walk in straight lines, who keep the grounds
clean, who do not go beyond this boundary
of trees. They call this exercise-
to clear their heads of demons.
There are enough already in the bullets
implanted in this reclining hill,
  and these we hope will never grow.
The trees mend each spring
over scars and knots
to help children climb.
We notice young men still scrambling
up the hillside
to breach the weariness of the forest's
sprawl, to find that distended border and rest
where they cannot hear
their mothers' shouts:
  Come home.

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