Poetry crosses the earth alone,

诗歌独自穿越大地，

gives its voice to the pain of the world

向世界的痛苦发出她的声音

and asks for nothing

而不自求什么

not even words.

更无话语。

It comes from far away, unexpected, without notice;

她来自远方，出乎意料，从无征兆。

it has the key of the door.

她拥有开门之匙。

On entering, it always stops to look at us.

进门时，它总停步看看我们。

Then opens its hand and gives us

然后张开手就递给我们

a flower or a pebble, something secret,

一朵花或一块卵石，神密物体，

but so intense that the heart beats

但是激情太浓了导致心跳

too fast. And we wake up.

过快。而我们就醒来。