Nighthawks

That day , I saw them bark
at the moon to set,
reserving the sun
its seat .

They jeered snide
when the dark clogged
children’s lungs with cinders
from a bullet race.

They chanted
to resurrect the dead,
turning epitaphs
into magicians’ spells.

But they tightened nooses
in a single breath,
as long as they
could give death a face.

That day , I saw them looking
out the café window, pockmarked
by their own glass - eyed gaze,
squinting half - asleep.