Seeing All of Rome’s Underworld—
That’s in fact where the wallet was.
The gloved hand of some pickpocket,
brushing back his hair, then slipping
my money places I’d wished to go and see.
But for some things they don’t sell
passports. I keep an eye on backpack,
and ignore the beggars on this railcar.
I’m going home knowing I came close
enough to touch and be touched by a true artist.