REFUGEES
Fear lurks
in the guts,
winds its way
upwards,
hesitates at the heart.
Thoughts beat
against the bony bondage
of the brain,
cursed to crave
and hope
and wait
cold and forlorn
at the rusty edges of
communication’s gate
where words
hang suspended
from barbs of metal,
where children
play
at jumping
Nato-wire
and creativity
now means
reckoning
a route that will
somehow work.
They say the land
will hold your step
while death still rules the waters.