I’m always struggling for a way

我一直在努力寻找一种方式

to write about who you are, Father,

来描述你所是，父，

because it’s easier to tell someone

因为这样更容易告诉人

how morning light splices the first minutes

清晨的光最初的几分钟怎样

into thousands of tree-lined avenues,

嵌入千万条林荫大道，

or the smell of wet magnolia petals

或者湿润的木兰花瓣的香气

revive our steps on the spring hillsides.

怎样恢复我们的脚步在春天的山坡。

These are things people have held,

这些都是人们所抓住的东西，

even if only briefly, as a day ended.

尽管只是短暂的，当一天结束时。

But that’s it: they ended and will end

但这就是一切：它们结束了也必结束

and after the last spring passes,

在最后一个春天过去之后，

after the final petal molders into soil

在最后的花瓣腐烂成泥之后

and even after light ferments into

甚至在光发酵成

a fracture of fading stars, you will be

淡出的群星的一道裂缝之后，你仍将

as you always have been: what is enough.

永远如常：这就够了。