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 opened. I can do only two things for them - describe this flight and not add a last line.