The Wolf’s Hour Song

Mobile bells, in devout silence, balance,
In their quiet, singing hymns of praise,
Christen newborn with chords suspended,
Condole with dirges those passing beyond,
Contentedly expand and contract to time’s tock,
Heart’s beat, night’s whisper, God’s secret.

And I sit and share this simple symphony
Orchestrated by the grand maestro, Anima,
Baton in hand, conducting sweet nothings
Into my ears, and silent music dances in me
With my skull and torso and limbs, now,
Chords suspended, in holy balance.

The bells toll their peace, sing their hymns
To one passing along sharing their secrets.

Nick Santoro


Where Wolves Leer

For the authentic, artist-poet-who, cares,
Prophetic, those sounds of howling wolves,
Are never far from the n-earing.
It’s the gnashing of practiced teeth
That bristles my silvery hair
When the saliva sweetly drips
And my endearing dreamy aroma
Entreats the beast’s leer…
That’s when the tendrils, inside
My brain, outsource daimon’s mien.

Nick Santoro,  12.20.17