Night fell.My hands grew cold touching the facesOf dead kings and queens.There was a black raincoat in the upstairs bedroomSwaying from the ceiling,But what was it doing there?Mother's long needles made quick crosses.They were blackLike the inside of my head just then.The pages I turned sounded like wings.The soul is a bird, he once said.In my book full of picturesA battle raged: lances and swor