There was no silence only a rearrangement of bodies the ground kept everything without asking no one counted no one named only what remained could be touched I arrived after not as witness not as mourner but as one who works the air was still carrying them without form without permission I collected what did not leave not the bodies no what stayed beneath them what resisted disappearance what clung to the place like a second truth it had no owner no history that could be spoken it was already reduced I learned how to separate it slowly without disturbing the surface as if nothing had happened this is how it becomes perfume not memory not death but something that continues on other skin you take it you carry it you say nothing and the place the place appears clean but it is not it circulates