We had these places, their  topography
Ideal for dying, for disappearing  quickly
Mainly as images between impressions
Like disappearing among  streaks of rain.

Rain will disappear to remain a memory.
The memory will disappear ,only a sound
A picture frame at the top of a glass shelf.

The place will translate as a music record
And as smell of disinfectant and  two feet
Shuffling in the soft layers of the earth-air
Levitating as ghost without feet,only a tail .

The ghost is a mere illustration for children.
Their magazines smell of  kings and ghosts
As deep forest animals are talking morals.
We then turn ghosts with ghost memories
Our places turn ghosts in nightly quiescence.
Our places are ghosts that have turned dust.