The sun treads outside the house.

阳光走在家以外

I’m the only one home,

家里只有我

an idler at my ease.

一个心平气坦的闲人。

一日三餐

Each day, three meals.

理着温顺的菜心

I rinse the frail bok choi,

我的手

my hands

漂浮在半透明的白瓷盆里。

afloat in the sink’s pale translucence.

在我的气息悠远之际

My breath is far off

白色的米

while the pot’s white grains

被煮成了白色的饭。

steam to cooked rice.

纱门像风中直立的书童

望着我睡过忽明忽暗的下午。

The screen door stands straight as a boy attendant,

我的信箱里

watching me sleep

只有蝙蝠的绒毛们。

through the afternoon’s lights and shadows.

人在家里

In my mailbox

什么也不等待。

only fine strands of bat-hair.

房子的四周

At home

是危险转弯的管道。

one waits for nothing.

分别注入了水和电流

它们把我亲密无间地围绕。

Pipes turn tight around the house gripping, menacing,

随手扭动一只开关

packed with water and power,

我的前后

surrounding my whole being.

扑动起恰到好处的

Flip a switch,

火和水。

and before me, behind me

日和月都在天上

flick perfect fire, perfect water.

这是一串显不出痕迹的日子。

在酱色的农民身后

The sun and moon hang in the sky,

我低俯着拍一只长圆西瓜

day after trackless day.

背上微黄

Beside tanned farmers

那是我以外弧形的落日。

I bend and thump the oval watermelon,

不为了什么

the yellow blush on its back

只是活着。

a sunset arcing outside me.

像随手打开一缕自来水。

米饭的香气走在家里

Not for anything

只有我试到了

but to live.

那香里面的险峻不定。

Like twisting on a trickle of tapwater.

有哪一把刀

The fragrance of steamed rice walks through the house,

正划开这世界的表层。

its precipice and uncertainty

一呼一吸地活着

known to me alone.

在我的纸里

永远包藏着我的火。

Which knife

slices the skin of this world.

To live, exhaling after inhaling,

my fire

wrapped forever in my paper.