Close the gate.
The wire mesh cuts itself,
rights and responsibilities intertwined
and running through, the shock of fear,
electrified defence.

Inside, the path has worn.
Pounded grass still strives to live.
It answers to the sun and rain,
unlike the people blind above.

Blank eyes.
Memories have uncoccooned,
self-consumed, and still they walk
the boundary of their loss,
the fencing of our fear.