Cold
“We keep no homes here for the unclean:
Our pleasure would be an ice cave.”
A hand on the ice wall,
Burn or/and freeze,
Purify:
There is no room in the high austerity
For the rabble -
Here we separate.
(I run my hand
over a wall
smooth
and deadly)
It is here in the cold
We make our stand,
It is here that we
Live,
Among eagles,
In mountains
Rare.
Cold
Slows the body,
Tightens it,
Renders it invisible.
Our pleasure is an ice castle,
Our pleasure is the clean high.
We know that
Death
Is not
A fire.