I walk with the ghosts who walk on the beach.
I photograph the rails,
the security cameras, the grey sea,
the mansions on the hillside.
I touch the stone walls,
sit on the steps, breathe the air,
read the graffiti.
I climb the hill and look at the view.
I stand at the gates,
peer at the carvings, record the leaves
and branches, the signs.
Half the world from here and just under
Thousands of miles in a breath, in a word
Thousands of steps in a sigh, in a song
I buy a ticket and wait for a train.
There are names for everything but you
have no name
(First published in Pixel Papers)