Only one cell in the frozen hive of night

在夜那冰冷的蜂巢中，只有一格

is lit, or so it seems to us:

被照亮，它看起来大致是这样的：

this Vietnamese café, with its oily light,

一家越南咖啡馆，油灯，

its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.

花朵状的香料。

Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.

谈笑声，筷子清脆的撞击声。

Beyond the glass, the wintry city

玻璃窗外，这冬天的城市

creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.

像一座老木桥一样吱吱作响。

A great wind rushes under all of us.

我们的楼下涌起了一股大风。

The bigger the window, the more it trembles.

窗户越大，晃动得就越厉害。