there are no living people in this place
there are only the dying, and the dead
the time moves, but very slowly, for the dead
for the dying- fast enough
hungry, thirsty, we are waiting for when the thing comes to pick us up from this dark cold place
survival means one thing here- dying more slowly
the children go to one place, adults take less time to cross
small hungry bodies just walk around or sit quietly until their body gives up
and they become the dead, join them, become frozen but still move around.
we don't talk, we whisper.
nobody will shelter us from the storms, the sickness.
there's nothing to do but sometimes walk, to those of us who're left with legs.
or stare.
and keep staring.