我始終欣喜有一道光在黑夜裏

A little light enchants me always in the dark:

在風聲與鐘聲中我等待那道光

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

在直到中午才醒來的那個早晨

I woke before noon this morning

最後的樹葉作夢般地懸著

to last leaves suspended in a dream,

大量的樹葉進入了冬天

their masses gliding down toward winter,

落葉從四面把樹圍攏

each trunk besieged, the trees and slant city

樹，從傾斜的城市邊緣集中了四季的風——

bearing every season’s breeze—

誰讓風一直被誤解為迷失的中心

Who sees wind at the heart of loss?

誰讓我堅持傾聽樹重新擋住風的聲音

Who leads me to listen

為迫使風再度成為收獲時節被迫張開的五指

for the strains of these branches,

風的陰影從死人手上長出了新葉

five claws of the harvest wind splayed open?

指甲被拔出來了，被手。被手中的工具

Wind and its shadow draw young leaves

攥緊，一種酷似人而又被人所唾棄的

from the hands of the dead, fingernails

像人的陰影，被人走過

extracted one by one. This implement,

是它，驅散了死人臉上最後那道光

this manlike shadow spurned by men

卻把砍進樹林的光，磨得越來越亮

though they walk through it,

how it drains the light from a dying face

逆著春天的光我走進天亮之前的光裏

as its burnished gleam cuts forests.

我認出了那恨我並記住我的唯一的一棵樹

在樹下，在那棵蘋果樹下

Against spring’s light I walked toward dawn,

我記憶中的桌子綠了

under a tree that hates and recalls me, that apple

骨頭被翅膀驚醒的五月的光華，向我展開了

where memory’s shelf went green.

我回頭，背上長滿青草

The wings of May awaken bones,

我醒著，而天空已經移動

a wide sheen spread before me.

寫在臉上的死亡進入了字

On this lush grass I lie awake,

被習慣於死亡的星辰所照耀

turning as the sky turns,

死亡，射進了光

death’s inscriptions on my face,

使孤獨的教堂成為測量星光的最後一根柱子

the flickering celestial

使漏掉的，被剩下。

accustomed to collapse.

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.