The dead man
had in his pocket
a theatre
ticket stub
to the last night
of the play
a single
train ticket
some loose change
that didn’t amount to
much
the beginning of a poem
merely an unintelligible
scribble
little scrap of
Love
a precious
kiss
(invisible to all
but himself)
on his right cheek
that had never faded
but blossomed anew
each time he thought
about it
on his lips
was a name
that remained with him
always
