I close my eyes, see a flashing black arrow:
a ghost walker or a ghost walking.
I can't stop thinking about the West,
how at sixteen I was almost gone.
I dined by gaslight then,
used all ten fingers when praying.
Somewhere in the distance, a train kissed the silence,
a seabird drug its flag over land.
Horn-rimmed glasses corrected misprints of vision.
A sign read: Buy Land, Build An Empire