I have a friend who has a friend 
Who asked her to place her hand
And place a flower on Samuel Beckett’s grave
On his behalf. 
This man, who is in the theater, had corresponded with Sam.
My friend asked me to join her to do this. 
It seemed reason enough to come to Paris. 
And it was. 
And there, quite a surprise, was Susan Sontag’s grave. 
And now it’s time to get the fuck out 
Of this beautiful pointlessness.