In isolation,
there is only false light
when seeking refuge
and your oppressors
deliberately misinterpret
‘seeking asylum.’

A light bulb hangs
like strange fruit
casting small shadows
lighting windowless walls
so he can’t see out
and we can’t see in

And a door offers no way out
so he takes the light bulb
in his weak hand
on the stem of a scarred wrist
he crushes the light
and swallows the pieces
hoping that perhaps
it will piece together
inside his body
and light up his beating heart
so we can see it beating