In memory of Ernst Juenger

There are boys who befriend snakes.
They are fearless and they sing.
Their white shirts, like snow
fly above a fresh grave.

Beneath the black velvet of their pants
their knees burn, torn in marches
on the marble cliffs. Their voices
are thin, but even thinner is their pure breath.

Their perfect pitch resounds like thunder
from lop-eared ears to tender ribs.

...There is no falsity in my feelings
for You, my Lord, for You.

O this love, cold and clear,
this steel honor:
like crystal, salty and icy
and crystal.

There are lips that close the seam
on the sleepy wound;
and blood that drips from the sole
becomes dew.

This is the love that befriends snakes
and beats without pity;
and will kill if Your image
winks from the crystal

and points towards the bloodied path
between reapings
where snow lies on dead ships
and sailors sleep.