倒放

in reverse

窗外的雪正向上旋转

snow spiraling up

光线

outside the window

弯曲、折射

as light bends, refracting

玻璃像棱镜一般，

on the glass like a prism

碎裂的光谱

a shattered spectrum

洒满地板。

of color spills across the floor

我们解开拥抱，

we unhug

又并肩坐回沙发，

settle back into the couch

冻结于时间里，却不知为何仍在运动，

frozen in time, yet somehow still moving

仿佛被倒置的雪景球。

in a snowglobe held upside down

我把烟卷塞进你指缝的V形

i press the joint into the V of your fingers

吸入一团云。

inhaling a cloud

这一次，我没有在圣诞后的早晨离开

this time, i don’t leave for baltimore

乘坐灰狗巴士

the morning after christmas

前往巴尔的摩。

on a greyhound bus

这一次，不是最后一次。

this time, it isn’t the last time

我看见你笑时皱纹

i see wrinkles fractal

如分形图案般在脸上铺展，

across your face when you laugh

奇怪的是，倒放的笑声

strange, how rewound laughter

几乎与真实无异——

looks almost exactly the same –

像一首喜悦的回文诗。

a palindrome of joy

我眨眼——场景变了。

blink, and the scene shifts

我们开着向后行驶的车辆，

now we’re driving backward

比我想的更快，

faster than i’d like

旧轮胎碾过雪线缝出的道路。

worn tires over snow-stitched roads

我递给你那根你正要“熄灭”的烟，

i hand you the joint you’re about to unlight

烟丝的亮红正吸进烟雾。

its ruby ember sucking in smoke

你俯向我，张口

as you lean toward me, mouth open

想说些什么重要的事——

to tell me something important

大概是关于音乐，

most likely about music

或者上帝。

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

我想听，但我必须——

blink. and we’re in a cemetery

眨眼。我们已在墓园。

unsmoking another and it’s ironic

让另一支烟在手指间伸长，具有讽刺性，

but not in a funny way

却并不好笑

and you seem to know this –

你似乎明白这一切——

solemn as the stone

神情庄重，如你手指下面

beneath your fingers

那块石头。

tracing names, asking who

你描摹着名字，问我

they might have been, or become

他们曾经是什么样的人，

so i can conjure stories

或者本来可以成为什么样的人。

temporarily resurrecting

于是我开始编织故事，

the dead.

暂时

as i’m doing now.

让死者复活——

和我此刻在做的一样。