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The more this land drinks blood,
the smaller the people get
The more people get smaller,
the more their memories get scaled down
Whittled down, all they recall now
are the steps taken away
The words not present,
the color of loss
Breathing and crying for they know not what.
A man gestures towards a necklace, a scapular, the end of a stethoscope
Perhaps this object will let him comprehend
The fist half closed in death
that is bigger than himself
The eyes closed now, that opened themselves to the fading light
