Death in Captivity, a Surrender
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.
