Your screams are in the walls
Lightly, I run my fingers upon them
And feel the texture of your fear
The sharpness of your pain
- keening.
Your blood is in the cracks between the tiles
Though black, it smells of redness
And yes, small children’s blood
Is sweeter than
The blood of men and women.
Your invisible shadows are bright
They move across the floor
Like dancers swirling
To death's chaotic music
And beneath these layers
We can hear other sounds:
The chanting of numbers,
The recitation of poems,
The conjugation of verbs...
Before the darkness came.
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