The Unicorn in Captivity

Cold metal bowl of rainwater,
rusted leash attached to a stake
in the ground, I am grateful for
anything. Hello, my name is
Grateful For Anything. Hello,
my name is Missouri. Rottweiler.
There was no fence. Still, I stood
at the edge of something, looking
out. There were no visible
wounds. Still, something bled
and I couldn’t tend to it.
There was no fence, there was
no leash. Still, I stood at the edge
of something, looking out.
There was no blood, it was just
the juice, dripping from the fruit—
pomegranates—that hung
from the dirty trees and burst
and marked me in jerks from above.