There was a great heat that year.
They made tents out of the nation's
worn out mantle, fixed their gaze
at fissures. The heat cracked
the asphalt, burned the blue, filled
the air and lungs, stuck the tent to
their ripped skin that flapped
like a flag.
When the rain came, it was no relief:
large drops splashed on the ground
and dried exhaling dust.
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