It's This Way

The poem

I stand in the advancing light, 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.