Father studied theology through the mail br And this was exam time. br Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book br Full of pictures. Night fell. br My hands grew cold touching the faces br Of dead kings and queens. br br There was a black raincoat br       in the upstairs bedroom br Swaying from the ceiling, br But what was it doing there? br Mother's long needles made quick crosses. br They were black br Like the inside of my head just then. br br The pages I turned sounded like wings. br "The soul is a bird," he once said. br In my book full of pictures br A battle raged: lances and swords br Made a kind of wintry forest br With my heart spiked and bleeding in its branches.