On Looking At Images of Sfentyli At Blue Hour

Those are houses with eyes and ears. Some 

have fangs too.

And claws. They dig into your tenderest spot and root around,

When they wake up 

At the blue hour. 

Snaggletooth windows wrap themselves around twisted spaces, sinking 

and rising from deep, malevolent

Waters:

Rank waters! Eating into hopes and dreams pent up in dripping stony walls!

Broken towers raising their fists in futile rage at human folly, while

Doors, agape, stand guard at the brink of abysmal unappeased hunger;

Yet all is forgiven every dusk and each dawn

At the blue hour,

Moments before the furtive stillness swills out of its murky jaws 

the red beast into the morning sky.