The border crossing
movements across countries
A whisper storms though the camp –
Tonight. A bloodless moon,
The rain has stopped.
Adam and I roped,
We tread, soft earth clutching,
Up the hill. North. Past the Star.
Ahead, behind murmurs, children hushed.
Silence. Rustle of leaf on leaf.
The moon drips its severed light
Threads the way. To somewhere else.
A house. People waiting.
Sleeping late into the morning.
A strobe of lights.
The night withdraws.
We’re opened. Penned.
There is a moment life ceases, becomes nothing,
No longer of this Earth, this place of dust and stone
We’re ghosts, displaced, no spaces, bodies to call home,
Just whispers of a dying breath silent fading.
Nothing is private.
Leave us with nothing.
Push us back. We are nots.
We return, bags of blood and bone,
The dream of crossing closed, postponed.