I will cover you in red wool

Lately I have taken to reading poems to the furniture, this is a recording of me reading 'night poem' to the bed post.

Night Poem, Margret Atwood There is nothing to be afraid of it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain In this country of water with its beige moon damp as a mushroom, its drowned stumps and long birds that swim, where the moss grows on all sides of the trees and your shadow is not your shadow but your reflection,

your true parents disappear

when the curtain covers your door.

We are the others,

the ones from under the lake

who stand silently beside your bed

with our heads of darkness.

We have come to cover you

with red wool,

with our tears and distant whispers.

You rock in the rain's arms

the chilly ark of your sleep,

while we wait, your night

father and mother

with our cold hands and dead flashlight,

knowing we are only

the wavering shadows thrown

by one candle, in this echo

you will hear twenty years later.