Forgive me for not making our appointment
- a justifiable absence --
No. No. I don't have a cough. I don't need
a special tea prepared of mallow
like the lukewarm, sugared kind
that always got lost when I was a child.
I'm not cold or hot, either:
I'm used to almost anything;
nor is it a matter of beads or dresses:
when there is love Love -- we lack nothing.

It's been a while since I've started being late
for almost all my daily appointments.

Who could it occur to, to spend these hours
being in love,
or writing poems,
or losing eyelashes one after another,

or go around with an adolescent heart
in the white corners of the house!

Could it be the little hands of the clock
that are irresponsible, crazy, or sleepwalking?

Of course not: My pen and a lovely
blank sheet of paper hound me.

Let it be, this one time, an date
postponed indefinitely.
In reality (forgive me, you understand)
it's a canceled appointment.