Mind this hour, it is your time,
mine the mouth and yours the rhyme.
Mines the mouth, though it
full of words that will not fill.
Some spell narrowness, some breadth,
all recall the brush with death.
I make one, and we make three,
one half bound, one half free.
In the dooryard, puckered mint,
you pucker back, you leave a hint.
the German by Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh)
Originally published in the October/November
2000 issue of Boston Review