His Voice Had Grown Softer Each Day by Kevin Goodan

I need you to get me a ticket, he said.
For what, I asked, waking at the foot of his bed.
For the train, he said. They say I need a ticket.
Except for the small lamp the room was dark.
The air was cool and clear. The first night of september.
Do you know who they are, I asked
and he said , Oh yes. They are smiling and waving-
I havent seen them in so long.
They want me to climb onboard...I need my ticket.
I want to give you a ticket, I said.