The breeze off Arrow lake
sways the curtains in my room,
robbing the ghosts of places to hide.
The fan blurs the ceiling where
peeled wallpaper casts vibrating
shadows, like insect wings
stuck to my leather.
The confused air stirs
this book on my knees and
my eyes flutter closed
to again see today’s road.
The fan circles my sleep as
the hot room strokes my sepia skin.
I am utterly still.
The ghosts will not let
those demons find me here
in the Leyland Hotel.

(Upper Arrow Lake: Kerry Oxford)