Ghosts Poem by Alexander Downie

I remember it well at the Chelsea Hotel; a ghost touched your hand while I slept.
In Myrtals Plantation cyprus trees hangs low, two faces in a window waving goodbye as we go.
A White Bridge full of sorrow in Glen Coe, a cruel wind or murdered ancestors calling?
The Barrowland Ballroom late at night, the footsteps of Bible John are falling.

Mother you believed, you told stories late at night so where are you now as I turn out the light?
If there is a haunting it comes in my songs, words by others remind me your gone.
In Austin you would walk with me everywhere, at night my pillow, a faint scent of your hair.
My ghosts are real.