A little light enchants me always in the dark:

我始終欣喜有一道光在黑夜裏

through notes of wind and bell, I wait for it.

在風聲與鐘聲中我等待那道光

I woke before noon this morning

在直到中午才醒來的那個早晨

to last leaves suspended in a dream,

最後的樹葉作夢般地懸著

their masses gliding down toward winter,

大量的樹葉進入了冬天

each trunk besieged, the trees and slant city

落葉從四面把樹圍攏

bearing every season’s breeze—

樹，從傾斜的城市邊緣集中了四季的風——

Who sees wind at the heart of loss?

誰讓風一直被誤解為迷失的中心

Who leads me to listen

誰讓我堅持傾聽樹重新擋住風的聲音

for the strains of these branches,

為迫使風再度成為收獲時節被迫張開的五指

five claws of the harvest wind splayed open?

風的陰影從死人手上長出了新葉

Wind and its shadow draw young leaves

指甲被拔出來了，被手。被手中的工具

from the hands of the dead, fingernails

攥緊，一種酷似人而又被人所唾棄的

extracted one by one. This implement,

像人的陰影，被人走過

this manlike shadow spurned by men

是它，驅散了死人臉上最後那道光

though they walk through it,

卻把砍進樹林的光，磨得越來越亮

how it drains the light from a dying face

as its burnished gleam cuts forests.

逆著春天的光我走進天亮之前的光裏

我認出了那恨我並記住我的唯一的一棵樹

Against spring’s light I walked toward dawn,

在樹下，在那棵蘋果樹下

under a tree that hates and recalls me, that apple

我記憶中的桌子綠了

where memory’s shelf went green.

骨頭被翅膀驚醒的五月的光華，向我展開了

The wings of May awaken bones,

我回頭，背上長滿青草

a wide sheen spread before me.

我醒著，而天空已經移動

On this lush grass I lie awake,

寫在臉上的死亡進入了字

turning as the sky turns,

被習慣於死亡的星辰所照耀

death’s inscriptions on my face,

死亡，射進了光

the flickering celestial

使孤獨的教堂成為測量星光的最後一根柱子

accustomed to collapse.

使漏掉的，被剩下。

If death is pierced by luminescence,

this solitary church must be the last column

to gauge the failing light of stars.

What’s missing’s what’s left out.