Time
is as thin
as a napkin wiping away
crumbs of words
from under the lip.
“Have you enjoyed yourself?” it asks. “Tell your friends.”
“You haven’t? Tell us.”
And we, like the mouth, are never satisfied
with the menu of the body
and love at night’s end
is a chair reversed
on a restaurant table.
Its legs in the air,
its head in clouds of floor.
Translated by Vivian Eden