They jumped from the burning floors
One, two, a few more,
higher, lower.
The photograph halted them in life
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth.
Each still complete,
with a particular face
and blood well hidden
There's enough time
for hair to come loose,
for keys and coins
to fall from pockets.
They're still within the air's reach,
within the compass of places
that have just now opened
I can only do two things for them -
describe this flight
and not add a last line.
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