the dryness

The Dryness

They used to keep their distance, but now that the moot
of wine has dried there is no defense against the blighters
that disturbs my night by opening doors and slamming
them shut. Whispers coming from nowhere, shadows
where they shouldn’t be hastily appear, frost roses on
bedroom window, shivered under two duvets made of
the tail feather’s hapless ducks, alas a quacking morning
chorus woke me up the ducks came demanded their
feathers back. A horse hair blanket keeps me warm if not
asleep, its too rough for my indoor skin. Imps and former
dark deeds keep their distance you will never find an evil
spirit in a stable where there is a horse, manger and hay.