The way a stranded animal looksback or circles above or reachesa slow paw in your directionafter the terror of your carrying themhas not so much passed as is beginning toebb in the slipstream of their blue or green,warm or cold blood and they can seethat what they maybe did or didn’t knowto even hope for—tiniest beating wishin the swish of the lungs—came(as we say, not they) true or simplythat somehow by some grace they arereturned now to an element—air, water,earth—they can recognize and thoughthey cannot possibly recognize you,they recognize that you were there,instrumental even, an instrument in this caseand the right, maybe righteous, fearcoursing through them now holds a glintof gold like sunlight in a river of leaves—this time a sloth, slowly, backwardfrom a newly gripped tree, this timea sea turtle, cold stunned so we have tosearch out the wave in its freeze-frame eyes.