这个女人完美了。

The woman is perfected.

她死去的

Her dead

身体穿着成就的微笑,

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

一种希腊的必然性的幻象

The illusion of a Greek necessity

飘动在她的托加长袍的涡卷里,

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

她赤裸的

Her bare

双脚似乎在说着:

Feet seem to be saying:

我们已经走得很远,该结束了。

We have come so far, it is over.

每个死去孩子都蜷曲着,一条白色大蛇,

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

一个孩子在各自小小的

One at each little

牛奶罐,如今空了。

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

她已经把他们

She has folded

收拢进她的身体如一朵玫瑰的

Them back into her body as petals

花瓣关闭,当花园

Of a rose close when the garden

僵硬而气味流溢

Stiffens and odors bleed

从那夜花甜蜜的、深深的喉咙。

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

月亮没有什么值得悲伤的,

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

自她骨头的头巾里往外凝视。

Staring from her hood of bone.

她已习惯了这种事情。

She is used to this sort of thing.

她许多的黑噼啪作响并拖曳着。

Her blacks crackle and drag.