Out the window

darkness opened to a book

of ghost towns in the area.

The colors of day had gone

sleepy against a madness

of hours and long explanations.


I came across Runnymede,

a mile or so away. Nothing’s left

but a few photos. Hotel,

schoolhouse, a face—

maybe two. I think

I stopped at Runnymede

because it was close.


I could secretly slip

a name under the shadow

of a cracked pine door,

call a spirit out

of the crystal air where

everything stopped



But come morning,

I was the only ghost

I found—looking

for my keys, day timer

and the nearest




- George Bishop