Enveloped by an ancient roof
And walls imprinted with secrets
The castle does not sleep at midnight
It stirs into a story
Lions on the fireplace toss their manes
Threaten with fiery gazes
Shift their bodies
The fire sparks, igniting of its own accord
Flaring up wildly
The fluttering of bats beneath the ceiling
Heralds a vampire
Ghosts titter
Filling the gullible with panic
Fear deep in their bones
In the drawing room, a light smolders
You see a princess stepping out from a painting
Settling into an armchair to read
While a witty page fawns upon her
A blind princess in a white room
Before Venetian mirrors
Weeps—you can hear her sobbing
In the knights’ hall
Beneath carved cedarwood from Lebanon
They are all gathered—
Vragović, Schlippenbach, Pongratz—
With their children and grandchildren
Engaged in boisterous conversation
About dividends, money, and vanity
About beautiful, cruel countesses
And how to help—or hinder—
A serf
From the tapestries, the barking of dogs
Drowns out the clamor of the knights
A hunt for hares
And a startled doe
At midnight, the castle stirs into a story
Every nook and secret passage
Every whisper
Takes on a mischievous, mysterious tone
Locks creak, owls hoot
Chandeliers sway for no apparent reason
***
Every old man is a castle—
An ancient relic
At midnight, memories come alive
Reminiscence and recollection cry out
Leaping into... color and a flash
Around the castle
Whiteness, snow, everywhere