Death has innocent cries,
newborn sounds, feeble attempts
at first communication.

You can hear a voice dropping,
distance told by sound.
The ever growing gap–diminuendo.

Do you think they knew the sensation of falling?

Startled shoulders widening,
hands outstretched, backs arched in anticipation.
Head limp, necks not knowing how to hold things together.

Once in a museum I saw
a pile of children’s shoes.
At least five feet high–

it was just one pile.
I’m sure there were others in other museums.

Newborn cries can fill a hospital’s atrium,
swell in that empty place and
break through any sunlight that provides
witness to atrocity.

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