I’m inside the advancing light,
my hands are 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 somewhere.

It’s like this:
being captured is beside the point,
the point is not to surrender.