About my shoulders
White mist curled.
V. PORTRAIT BY ZULOAGA
Death lies in wait
For those who do not know
What they desire,
And Hell for those
Who fear what they have taken.
These hands are wrinkled
From stretching forth,
Brown
From the winds blowing upon them.
They are strong with seizing,
They do not tremble.
VI. GESTURES
Let there be dancing figures
On our wine-flask,
Swastikas on our rug,
Inscriptions in our rings
And on our dwelling.
Let us build ritual
For our worship,
Pledge our love
With vows and holy promises.
If oaths are broken,
Let it be darkly
With threatening gestures.
Thus we ignore
That we love and die
Like insects.