so I could visit the zoo,
where the animals
are caged. A low metal fence
pens in the giant tortoise,
big as a coffee table and as far
from the Galápagos scrub and sand
as I am from what I had hoped for.
But, here we are,
making our own paradise,
and even before I lean out
to scratch that old, dry head,
in a move more housecat than reptile,
it’s already rising
to meet my fingers,
stout legs straightening
toward tenderness.