Sonnet  24

I apologize, new friends, to you
for not shining steadily through,
my promise days over due
like a late library book,
everywhere carefully looked
for, yet, like a fish unhooked.
I hope there is no accruing fine
as days passed without lines,
without writing in horizontal time.
Lost.  Is not time an illusion
and time's bending a miracle fusion?
My promise unkept a delusion?
Is my apology not needed
then? Undone is done heeded.