A single shiver sent along my spine
reminds me of the time I spent alone
in Castle Green for seven days and nights
just waiting for Othello's eerie moan.
I'd wandered through those old forsaken halls,
through rooms of wispy webs and dusty doors,
I'd stumbled over rocky shrouded fields,
through broken reefs and sands of darkened shores.
And nights I'd lay awake with rounded eyes,
my covers pulled up well above my chin,
and when I heard a knocking at the pane
I shuddered twice, then rose to let him in.
Othello huddled there upon the sill,
jumped up to me and mewed, and then lay still.