A ghost on the lawn,
        is walking upon
the path by the rhododendrons. 

A witch in the shed,
        is shifting behind 
the sprinkler’s humdrum rainbow.

A floating head in the hall,
        is nodding along, 
whispering: where’s my body?

A boy in his room,
        is talking into 
an empty, dancing dresser.

The house is a skull,
        in a town 
that is an endless, grey moonlit graveyard.