Ballad in the Streets of Buenos Aires
And a man waits in the streets and meets a woman
precise and beautiful as the clock inside her room
and sad and white as the wall that holds it
And she does not show him her teeth
and she does not show him her belly
but she shows him her time, precise and beautiful
And she lives on the ground floor next to the pipes
and the water which goes up starts at her wall
and he has decided on softness
And she knows the reasons for weeping
and she knows the reasons for the holding back
and he begins, and he begins to be like her
And his hair grows long and soft like hers
and the hard words of his tongue melt in her mouth
and his eyes in tears will look like hers
And the traffic lights light up her face
and she is standing there in the permitted and the forbidden
and he has decided on softness
And they walk in the streets which will be in his dreams
and the rain weeps into them as into a pillow,
and restless time has made them into prophets
And he will lose her in the red light
and he will lose her in the green and in the yellow
and the light is always there to serve all loss
And he won’t be there when soap and lotion run out
and he won’t be there when the clock is set again
and he won’t be there when her dress is raveled out in threads
And she will shut his wild letters in a quiet drawer
and lie down to sleep beside the water in the wall
and she will know the reasons for weeping and for holding back
and he has decided on softness
-Yehuda Amichai (translated by Harold Schimmel)
panache, perhaps 