Read the beginning of "Ghost Hallway" from The Least Cricket of Evening by Robert Vivian:
"I live in a ghost hallway. They come and go whenever they want, like the transparent, blow-away wings of bees. Their spirits hover inside this house on Mechanic Street like a twilight hue filling a wine glass. I live more or less inside their moods, which they carry behind them in traces of light that flood the panes one window at a time and in the creaky flutes of rusty hinges. The ghosts don’t say “boo” and they don’t swing chains. They’re good ghosts as far as I can tell, calm as a cup of tea, considerate and watchful and able to pay attention to the least thing for hours.