An ekphrastic prose poem about the song Decks Dark by Radiohead (From A Moon Shaped Pool).

A single long note, then a gentle rhythm. It feels like a relaxed heartbeat.  We’re going for a walk

in the dark, on a warm night.  Strange words follow us – we are ragdolls, we are cloth people –

and a piano track creates a path.  Notes tumble around us like rain.  We are drifting into

our darkest hour.  A mournful synth joins, the sound of a thought emerging.  Where are we going?

There are monsters in this dark. 

A sudden interruption of defensive words – we’re inside an argument.  It was just a laugh, just

a laugh.  The stream of words trails away and we’re shocked back into normality.  The piano

resumes, a delicate sound, reassuring us that the monsters are all in our head. 

But they’re not, are they?  Bass notes of the piano now, a warning.  The words are indistinct

as if we’re falling asleep.  Sweet darling, sweet darling. Repeated until darkness.