In Griffith Park, the Old Zoo
cages are half-tortured ruins,
stone crumbling at the foundation,
hiking trails winding through where
large carnivores eyed their captors.
Occasionally, a lost man may sleep
on cold slabs and view the fingertip
of light from the musky night skies
jabbing its mysterious inquisition.
I brought a lover here to explain
the passion of the unchained
but all we did was clasp hands
and discuss our own captivity
with no living eyes upon us,
ivy crawling over the enclosure.
We are each other’s keepers.