I fell in love at the border crossing, which slowed down my passage somewhat. I lingered there for a few days, writing down my impressions, imagining our future. I had it all pictured – the suburban house, the cherubic kids, your face being told the news of my death. Somehow this was the most romantic moment. But the reality was the corridor, and men in khakis whose voices dropped as I passed, and gazing lengthily over empty offices. Where were you? Not at the compound, and not beyond, not in the fields where I walked – until the dirt caked my best shoes, and I decided suddenly one night to move out, through the fences, back onto that long new country road.