Haunted

I came to the desert,
to find the ghosts here
were not mine.

The streets were pure,
the sand bleached clean.

Too soon I watched
the lighthouse crumble,
as I walked a street
strewn with red feathers.

Clockwork scorpions crawled
from the baking sands,
injecting their amber poison,
to kill me.

Ghosts walk the streets now,
ghosts I know, where once
they were strangers to me.