The mudlike shapes under the fetid earth
show every sign of having fallen.
Their faces, torn by the winds,
brows lost in their eyes,
washed and dusted in somber hues.
The wind blows, drenching the dead.
Their teeth and lips torn
from the anamnesis of disintegration.
They are sedated and silent as whales in the sun,
and look with a glint of soul
at those who gaze
with impotent curiosity.