We scooped up sand for hourglasses,
Seashells for shovels.
Unbeknownst that the
Firing squad lay in ambush behind the dunes.
However, as we got to the bottom of what was
Going on,
We dug our own graves deeper,
After six feet they became tunnels for flight.
All traces of our path were erased by the flood,
The time the executioners suspected our absence.

Kerim Mallée

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