The quivering wings of the winter ant

冬蚁颤动的翅膀期待着

wait for lean winter to end.

贫瘠冬季的结束。

I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,

我爱你，以迟钝而迂腐的方式，

hardly speaking, one or two words only.

除了只言片语，几乎不说。

What caused us each to live hidden?

是什么促使我们各自隐秘地生活？

A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.

一道伤痕、那场风、某个字或母体。

Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,

有时候我们痴等，无助而笨拙，

awkwardly, not whole and not healed.

既无身心的圆满也无释怀的愈合。

When we hid the wound, we fell back

当你我掩饰起伤痕，我们已经

from a human to a shelled life.

从人类退化成一种带壳的生命。

Now we feel the ant’s hard chest,

此时我们感到了冬蚁坚硬的前胸，

the carapace, the silent tongue.

它的甲壳，它那沉默的舌头。

This must be the way of the ant,

这必然就是蚂蚁的方式，

the winter ant, the way of those

冬日的蚂蚁，那些受到伤害而仍想

who are wounded and want to live:

存活下去的生物具有这样的方式：

to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.

呼吸、感知他人、再加上等待。