I saw one caged alone in Salt Lake City: 

all mournful stillness

 

the shock when it stirred, raising 

huge wings like a threat of storm

 

a plumed hanging judge 

head a bony pink fist

 

wild condors sleep prone, heads 

tucked, in mountain treetops

 

under expressionist moonlight

harsh and hard-edged

 

by day the stately arrival at the deathbed

the grisly funeral rites and chattering wake

 

soaring, the condor forgets it is tagged and measured

is unaware that it transmits a signal

 

knows one favorite fact: everything 

living wants to keep on and cannot