The Southern Cross comes to our appointment
every night, without fail.

Where are you? What orbit do you navigate
so that they haven't seen you anywhere?
What is your route? Your speed
is measured in light-years; or was that before?

I've spent so much time
practicing the habit of waiting for you.
Meanwhile, the Southern Cross
pretends to accompany me.
(Who knows where
it's fulfilling its tireless mission!)

Each time I see it
I sit down here, in the torrent of my blood,
like an irremediable

And please don't arrive
too late.