An animal searches for its homeland.

Say to the animal: here is your home,
here is your livelihood, here in
this fenced perimeter.

Say to the animal: you are the last
of your kind, that is why you must live.

An animal migrates into a new body, senses the impulse to leave.

Say to the animal: heavy is
an apology inside the wind.

Say to the animal: mortality anchors
us to this planet.

An animal dies searching for its birthland.

Say to the animal: may your steps serve
as an itinerary of your past.

Say to the animal: may you come back
as a body of water.

May you come back as a saola.

All captured saolas have died in captivity
with the exception of two released back into the forest.

Say to the saola: forgive us
in our plea to love you, forgive that you
give us meaning.

Say to the saola: to die in captivity swells
your mystery, god-sworn to never
reveal the beauty inside.

A saola dies in captivity, each breath falling back in time.

Say to the saola: your livelihood is outside,
your bordered topography is a country
that may never return.

A saola is wounded in the act of capture.

A saola grows ill in captivity.

A saola dies and takes this future with it.

Say to the saola: here is a basket
in which to gather snowlight,
here is a blanket made of prayer.

Say to the saola: here is an echo
of the human you’ve left behind.