Cajoling From A Condor

Underneath the condor wings
Of the night's gargoyle sentries
Exiguous bodies shrill their lights
Scintillating the scar of the horizon
A fine line where the sun treads
Jumping rooftops and flooding trelisses
Where the morning rips and snoops in
Pilfering the dark of the night
And the salient screams of the cicadas—
A fracture of hope on a lazy fire
A purveyance for the poor
And the bones crackled to ignite
The hearse moseying in the roads
Shrouding the thinning ice in the skin
Unwelcoming in the rhythm of the dirge
The night ends there for the meander
Thwarted by an answer in the uttermost
Shape and form, but this is not
Giving up on me of me, yet.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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