I, you, windward blown looked north
And fell into the truck with the others
Like tumbled dominoes, we fell
And waited till the great hulk shuddered to a start.

This is not our fate, not yet, but someone
Deemed it possible for us to us only dream
Of escape.

We thought we travelled north, but it could have been
Anywhere.
Algeria, was where they left us, paperless
As mortared stationers,
I looked at where the rest had fled.

Numberless, nameless, there they were
One hundred, one thousand, more?
No one in this world is keeping score.
But they are left there forever interred.