there are ghosts on the road

out in the Pingtung country
there are ghosts on the road
happens when you stop softly
the one sound's a single toad
making a single croak
in fifty-mile wide silence

this half-hour bike ride's on rails
stillness has become concrete
chill now after daylong heat
dogwood sports heads, roots for tails

and within this farmyard land
only odd streetlights at hand
stop near a tiny temple
hear music drifting gentle

cycling in silence alone
these are the things you are shown
plain as the river has flowed
there are ghosts on the road


I lived briefly in Pingtung. I used to ride my bike around a lot, including after dark. There was definitely something magical, and occasionally eerie, about the countryside there.