I give a piece quite near away,

我扔下一小块，并不扔太远，

then another, one and two to three

然后又一块，还有二和三。

and say good-bye with some dismay.

然后说声“再见”，

带着一点悲观。

We might have been twins, I born in May

and she of the blistered January

我们没准曾是双胞胎，我生在五月，

colored like the vibrant cray-

而她属于起泡的一月

如同蜡笔一般鲜艳，

on, clinging on to toys of the day,

as mine become that of history.

紧抓住当下所有的玩具，

“Again,” she cries and I obey.

而我的玩具立刻变成老古董。

“再来一次”，她大叫，我服从。

I hold the script of the gone by matinee:

before I ever found a scar, a yawn, a he;

我拿着关于逝去的白天场演出剧本，

past the years I’ve spun to macramé.

却还没找到一个哈欠，一个伤疤，或者一个他；

这些岁月我只是扭转，织出无数绳结的花。

Soon I must go, and she will stay,

dwelling under the apple tree,

很快我应当离开，而她会留下，

never to wander blind in first foray.

在苹果树下栖居，

从未漫游，从未尝试盲目地进发。

Sentient air, lead her not to disarray.

She flails. I walk. We are matching memory.

洞若观火的气质，让她从未混乱抓狂。

I have things she never will, a little say.

她鞭打，我行走。我们是彼此交错的记忆。

So I pull away and board the last ferry.

我有些东西她绝不想要，很少说起。

所以我努力抽身，踏上最后一班渡轮。