It’s like Tennessee said,
The wild knows what it has lost.
Nothing is as tender as when it is free.
But if I would retrace my steps, not fall,
How would I know the way blood feels?
And the mellow touch of the grass below?
The warmth of another.
This loss of innocence.
Empty steps to the next cell.
So here I am, howling at the stars,
With all the other caged things.
Praying that I remember.
© Milana Vujkov, Maverick Minds, 2020