We crossed the stone wall—
rocks set upon each other
up to the knee.
There were holes between some rocks
as if smaller rocks should be wedged
to sustain the formation.
It was easy to cross over
but impossible to return
even to aid a friend who stumbled.
We’d been told the Mexican coyotes
brought undocumented folks
up dry stream beds
and that here drug mules
evaded federal agents
and their drug sniffing dogs.
We saw no sign of such maneuvers
engines of transport
or spotlights flicked on at night.
We found brooms stacked like arms.
There was a note attached
but we could not read it in the moonlight.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney