Photograph from September 11

 

 

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 is 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 do only two things for them—

describe this flight

and not add a last line.