Zoo   The White Tiger lies on its side and looks at us through its sleep, knowing exactly what has happened—   the cats we tried to feed this morning, but failed because our friends had bolted the door. The tiger dreams of a friend   unbolting the door for sweet little children who press their smiles against the glass. It knows about our walk   past the house of one of William Blake’s descendants, our trouble with that tiny brush and mirror fixed with ancient   superglue and a steady hand. It grooms itself and knows we are of…