Looking to the left,
It’s the women you notice first.

The black milk of this day
is that who they are, is not
Known.

Only claims, and conjecture
is not nearly good enough for
this.

This was the beginning
of their path to heaven.
Their start caught in one sepia moment.

The women are the eldest
of the ones who should be
Known.

Even with their hands raised,
they work to keep the group together.
You can see a girl with them,

her face quick as she enters the camera still.
But, at least, she is there,
with them, with this memory.

The other men, and the other boys, save one,
are behind them.

The black milk of this dusk
as they walk into night
is that they, too, are not
Known.

These unknown are
together
in one moment
walking forward in sun
to the deadliest place.



[right]Looking to the right,
The men in gray form their own group.

Four Meisters aus Deutschland,
lightning bolts on their collars,
guard the exodus of their prey
from the final haven they will know.

Only the one in the front,
the one with his weapon ready,
one out of all the bodies there, is
Known.
						
Death is a low man from Friedland-in-Böhmen,
there is steel on his head.
He cradles his gun with casual care,
his bullets strike you dead.

This pacification is mere business to him
and his leaden comrades-in-scales,
for the vipers they play with
slither deep in their dark.[/right]






[center]in the middle
is the boy
with a soft
cap and eyes
his long jacket
and knee socks
on his far
too thin legs
both his hands
are raised up
to the air
where there will
be graves in
the clouds where
one will lie
unconfined[/center]