in sunlit dustmotes

Here is a villanelle about a ghost:

We never saw the ghost, though he was there— 

we knew from the raindrops tapping on the eaves. 

We never saw him, and we didn’t care. 

Each day, new sunshine tumbled through the air; 

evenings, the moonlight rustled in dark leaves. 

We never saw the ghost, though: he was there, 

if ever, when the wind tousled our hair 

and prickled goosebumps up and down thin sleeves; 

we never saw him. And we didn’t care 

to step outside our room at night, or dare 

click off the nightlight: call it fear of thieves. 

We never saw the ghost, though he was there 

in sunlit dustmotes drifting anywhere, 

in light-and-shadow, such as the moon weaves. 

We never saw him, though, and didn’t care, 

until at last we saw him everywhere. 

We told nobody. Everyone believes 

we never saw the ghost (if he was there), 

we never saw him and we didn’t care.

—Dan Lechay, "Ghost Villanelle," from The Quarry (Ohio University Press, 2003). I LOVE VILLANELLES.