On the third day
She clung to the handrails
Near the door
All the way back

Zigzagging in knots
Shining incandescent
With the sun

Chained to a swing
Piled in drifts
Of faces
Marching on and off
Almost invisible
To the way she
Clung herself

Constantly trying
To get my attention
Like tapping on
A ***** window

And only successing
On the way out
Like a feather on the wind
Breathless in an unfinished flight.

(From the ongoing series of 30 ghost poems. Get in contact if you want to read the rest online)