my hands hungry, the world beautiful.
My eyes can’t get enough of the trees—
they’re so hopeful, so green.
A sunny road runs through the mulberries,
I’m at the window of the prison infirmary.
I can’t smell the medicines—
carnations must be blooming nearby.
It’s this way:
being captured is beside the point,
the point is not to surrender.
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)