这个女人尽善尽美了，

The woman is perfected.

她的死

Her dead

身体带着圆满的微笑，

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

一种希腊式的悲剧结局

The illusion of a Greek necessity

在她长裙的褶缝上幻现

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

她赤裸的

Her bare

双脚像是在诉说

Feet seem to be saying:

我们来自远方，现在到站了，

We have come so far, it is over.

每一个死去的孩子都蜷缩着，像一窝白蛇

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

各自有一个小小的

One at each little

早已空荡荡的牛奶罐

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

它把他们

She has folded

搂进怀抱，就像玫瑰花

Them back into her body as petals

合上花瓣，在花园里

Of a rose close when the garden

僵冷，死之光

Stiffens and odors bleed

从甜美、纵深的喉管里溢出芬芳。

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

月亮已无哀可悲，

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

从她的骨缝射出凝睇。

Staring from her hood of bone.

它已习惯于这种事情。

She is used to this sort of thing.

黑色长裙缓缓拖拽，悉悉作响。

Her blacks crackle and drag.