Let's be lock-pickers,

me, you,

lion on display.

I never knew my Serengeti.

My voice paced the fence–

no bite, no claw–

wrong home.

Like you, lion:

your Serengeti 

a treasure your teeth never knew

you're the last precious match, 

boxed.

Lion, be lion,

let the claws wake,

shred the whip

on the rail.

Your paws deserve their range

even if it means a thorn–

I'll tread my own.

At your rumble,

the gate will open 

to new words:

Swampburdened.

Freeangered.

Hopeclawed.

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