in reverse

倒放

snow spiraling up

窗外的雪正向上旋转

outside the window

光线

as light bends, refracting

弯曲、折射

on the glass like a prism

玻璃像棱镜一般，

a shattered spectrum

碎裂的光谱

of color spills across the floor

洒满地板。

we unhug

我们解开拥抱，

settle back into the couch

又并肩坐回沙发，

frozen in time, yet somehow still moving

冻结于时间里，却不知为何仍在运动，

in a snowglobe held upside down

仿佛被倒置的雪景球。

i press the joint into the V of your fingers

我把烟卷塞进你指缝的V形

inhaling a cloud

吸入一团云。

this time, i don’t leave for baltimore

这一次，我没有在圣诞后的早晨离开

the morning after christmas

乘坐灰狗巴士

on a greyhound bus

前往巴尔的摩。

this time, it isn’t the last time

这一次，不是最后一次。

i see wrinkles fractal

我看见你笑时皱纹

across your face when you laugh

如分形图案般在脸上铺展，

strange, how rewound laughter

奇怪的是，倒放的笑声

looks almost exactly the same –

几乎与真实无异——

a palindrome of joy

像一首喜悦的回文诗。

blink, and the scene shifts

我眨眼——场景变了。

now we’re driving backward

我们开着向后行驶的车辆，

faster than i’d like

比我想的更快，

worn tires over snow-stitched roads

旧轮胎碾过雪线缝出的道路。

i hand you the joint you’re about to unlight

我递给你那根你正要“熄灭”的烟，

its ruby ember sucking in smoke

烟丝的亮红正吸进烟雾。

as you lean toward me, mouth open

你俯向我，张口

to tell me something important

想说些什么重要的事——

most likely about music

大概是关于音乐，

or god. i want to listen, but i have to

或者上帝。

我想听，但我必须——

blink. and we’re in a cemetery

unsmoking another and it’s ironic

眨眼。我们已在墓园。

让另一支烟在手指间伸长，具有讽刺性，

but not in a funny way

and you seem to know this –

却并不好笑

你似乎明白这一切——

solemn as the stone

beneath your fingers

神情庄重，如你手指下面

那块石头。

tracing names, asking who

they might have been, or become

你描摹着名字，问我

他们曾经是什么样的人，

so i can conjure stories

temporarily resurrecting

或者本来可以成为什么样的人。

the dead.

于是我开始编织故事，

as i’m doing now.

暂时

让死者复活——

和我此刻在做的一样。