At the rim he recognizes escape,

leaving behind cornfields, strands

of silk drying to brown.  The ears

plump, ripening under hazy skies.

For him, an ocean, unfamiliar stars,

a glint of bridges and barbed wire,

the jungle's consuming green.

He stares out beyond the horizon.

 

One hand clenches

the dividing bar, the other

is full of son, asleep on her shoulder.

She sees the plummet of stone

into the ravines, a small crumbling

at the canyon's rim,

knows the magnitude of absence.