So we confront each other
right here
where the concrete is familiar
having agreed that we no longer believe
in the wind-blown green discovery.

and our friends
who call us lovers
are equally accustomed to the formula of rocks
and when they confront each other
with close eyes and hands
we call them lovers.

but when they start wandering shyly
behind the familiar paths
(as if something new existed)
we recognize our own yearnings
to replace yellow grass
with something that wil stand up
to our foot feeling.

and we who confront each other
have never even left the concrete way
for our friends would think us mad
and no longer call us lovers
if in their well shod world
we were to seek the kiss of greem
upon the feet
but we have agreed about that.