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This poem is taken from PN Review 213, Volume 40 Number 1, September - October 2013.

Three Dead Kings Duncan Montgomery
At first only grunts, and hoof thuds heavy as horses',
over the hill that was silver
with the peeled paper bark of its birches

came a boar-shaped sound
which grew to an actual animal:
calm, bough-dappled darkness; a heart

magnetically thumping in a cubbyhole
as shouts and sennets took on flesh and metal.
In that hollow a hounded animal ended

surrounded by gillies and dog squabbles
with punctured sides and cobbled hooves
pegged out, back to the earth,

and with the barrel-chested look
of never having had to leave their lands
the three lords left him.

*

The three lords left him
...


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