这女人完美了。

The woman is perfected.

她僵死的

Her dead

躯体带着功成名就的微笑，

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

古希腊必然命运的幻觉

The illusion of a Greek necessity

流淌在她长罩袍的皱褶中，

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

她赤裸的

Her bare

双脚似乎在说：

Feet seem to be saying:

我们走了这么远，都结束了。

We have come so far, it is over.

每个夭死的孩子蜷曲着，一条白蛇。

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

各自守着一只小小的

One at each little

盛奶的罐子，现已空了。

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

她已将他们折叠

She has folded

放回她的身体，如一朵玫瑰的

Them back into her body as petals

花瓣在花园僵枯时闭合，

Of a rose close when the garden

而馨香如血流

Stiffens and odors bleed

涌出这朵夜花甜蜜幽深的喉管。

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

月亮没什么可悲伤的，

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

从她罩着骨头的头巾里呆看。

Staring from her hood of bone.

对这种事她已习以为常。

She is used to this sort of thing.

她的黑块噼啪地开裂缓慢地移动。

Her blacks crackle and drag.