Perfect Day

Ballad on the Streets of Buenos Aires

And a man waits in the street and meets a woman
precise and beautiful as the clock on the wall of her room
and sad and white as the wall that holds it

And she doesn’t show him her teeth
And she doesn’t 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 that rises begins there in her wall
and he has decided on tenderness

And she knows the reasons for weeping
and she knows the reasons for holding back
and he begins to be like her, like her

And his hair will grow long and soft, like her hair
and the hard words of his language dissolve in her mouth
and his eyes will be filled with tears, like her eyes

And the traffic lights are reflected in her face
and she stands there amid the permitted and the forbidden
and he has decided on tenderness

And they walk in the streets that will soon appear in his dreams
and the rain weeps into them silently, as into a pillow,
and impatient time has made them both into prophets

And he will lose her at the red light
and he will lose her at the green and the yellow
and the light is always there to serve every 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 unravels to threads in the wind

And she will lock his wild letters away 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 tenderness

- Yehuda Amichai