A December night
and the tropical damp
beads the cobblestones
with sweat

A wind from the Gulf
- not cold or hot -
reminds me of other seasons
and raises fog

A translucent haze
electricity fails
and the fortune teller's candles
wink, starlight-filtered

We left the bar
and walked under
rustling banana leaves
and the glowering cathedral

Drunk, the lot of us.

Jane and Dawn had
heard the stories
with me, a while ago.
Ghosts.

Ghosts everywhere,
elbowing each other
in a town where spirits
more than get their due

The alleyway
was nondescript
barred and locked
like a thousand others

"Put your arm through,"
I said, "they'll grab you."
And they did, but
there was nothing there.