71 migrants in a refrigerator truck, Austria, 8/2015

Around us,
lungs and guts collapse.
I hold my child.
Her breath coasts to a stop.

Sealed in this dark asylum
we rock in the wind
other rigs throw off.

At my daughter's birth
trees shook their rattles — what joy
but here in this clatter
of throats, she is lost.

Traffic speeds by
as if we are a blind spot.
Scooters whine,
buses sigh, cars shift.

What I have I hold.