From the Palace of Z

There’s a circle with three dots
That could be an emoji
Or a modern light socket.

There’s a circle on a cross
That’s somewhere between an ankh
And a child’s stick-figure man.

There’s one symbol that looks like
A shrub or a stumpy tree,
Maybe even a bouquet.

What do they mean? What do they
Mean? Once, someone could read them,
Knew which signs meant which meanings

As pronounced in the language
Whose rapidity in air
These signs were meant to capture.

Knowing other languages
In early writing systems,
They probably only boast,

Enumerate, name a reign,
A battle, make an edict.
But wouldn’t it be lovely

If some lowly palace drudge,
Or at least a lively scribe
Had carved them as a protest

Poem and prayer against the king,
A verse of rude affection,
Shouting out to endless change?