There comes
Moment like this
To the man
That makes him quiet
Collapsed forever
Without shaking
Anyone's hands
To say good-bye
And with the last
Sunshine
The eyes close
The most beautiful face
Gets cold
Still
Without a smile
This is the end
Of your path
You are out
Of circulation This poem is dedicated to my friend,
Boguslawa Gladkowska, who suddenly died
in Chicago on June 9, 1997