No one puts stock
in ghosts anymore.

But everyone has a story
that begins with I’m not crazy.

Maybe it’s the bridge on 97
or the creaky floorboard upstairs.
The chair they’ll swear was rocking,
or totems of the dead discovered
in strange forgotten corners.
Lights on the Devil’s Backbone.

Ghosts love these stories.
They know

there isn’t any darkness
more forsaken
than the end of memory.