Ghosts

I am a ghost staring out the window
Sometimes, visitors to the castle imagine they see me
in a flash, a light, some subtle barely detectable movement.

Sometimes, they tell their friends about it, and the friends come to look
hoping to catch a glance of the surreal, the metaphysical,
something proving such things. Something they can talk about at fish frys.

Later, they will convince themselves it was only a trick of the light,
the reflexion on a pond unseen combined with a shattered mercury vapor lamp,
where the glow is generally much brighter, more metallic. Real too scary a thing.

A ghost stares out the window. The darkness on the outside contributes nothing.
The tears on the suds in the sink only emphasize the point.
and I am reminded once again that life is made of a chemical glow and saline.

Ghosts, when it comes down to it, are other than that.