Through a dry spot on the map—
Ghost Rock View—a nice view, too,
Wide sky—pale, sharp cliffs and buttes.
But it’s not the rock that’s ghost.
The ghosts are the ones with views.
The ghost is the word for ghost,
And the words for rock and view.
Why on earth would you name rocks
For lost lives you thought haunt you?
Just since some are pale, shell-white,
Since they glow when there’s a moon?
Ghosts just die to be like rocks.
A rock is not what it’s not.
