It's Both of Theirs;
Perhaps it is today.
Every day one or the other
put off by tomorrow.
Anticipation,
is worse than anxiety.
The door always open
as if by chance,
nothing else but too exit.
Trust is explicit,
and though they smell
of earth
it is as rich as any loam,
and the other can be rung
from the air so moist.
Both agree to let every one
think that they have
each been inside,
the heart of the other.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem