in Texas, the thick nights. Sidewalks as the dusk darkens,

得克萨斯，闷热的空气。

              the highway’s streaking lights.

暮色渐暗时的

人行道，高速上

Some people are always in a hurry, beautifully—

掠过的车灯。

              some stop to tilt their heads

有些人总是

              at a cloud or strange sound.

匆匆忙忙，美丽地——

有些人不再偏过头来

You know the way some people belong

看一片云，或听某种奇怪的声响。

              so much to one another

你知道有些人

              they seem not to notice one another.

如此属于彼此，

以至于他们

Even though I’d hardly noticed you

意识不到彼此。

             I let my eyes be stopped by you.

有些人好像什么

也不要——不要岁月，

What I felt in my hands was an easy fire, almost

甚至不要言语。

              effortless. But what did I feel

我能不能披一件

              in my arms. Sun

薄薄的外套绕在

                            rushing through weeds.

我的肩上，和你一起

出去走走，什么

What cuts through your eyes are dry blues and sloping lines,

都不说？在我们脚下

              like a woman’s back

静置的含水层，

              as she reaches for a glass of water.

公园里黑色的树。

虫鸣嗡嗡，

You spend a morning before the canvas, casting space.

靠近地面。

站在你的身体旁边

How have you reached this point in your life.

没有困惑，或是

猜疑，一种割过青草的气味。

You live in a whole world, with a tangled garden

一只手的垂落——

              and a sense of time.

你把手伸向

              The hazards held a little at bay.

我的脸然后握住

我的脖颈——顽皮

Sometimes you ask yourself questions you cannot

又莫名其妙。

              answer. You dwell there too long.

你知道那些

我们懒得说出口

You know some people seem to ask for nothing—

的事情现在占据了

              not years, not even words. But they are asking.

一片向外扩张的

空间。十月清凉

Shadowless, your paintings tense with red, ghostlines of skin,

的午后——太阳

              a longing so spare I couldn’t

回归——可这一切

              imagine it ending. I would wrap

我都经历过。

              a thin evening coat around my shoulders

然后是每个整夜的

              and step out with you

饥饿。每首小小的歌。

                             saying nothing.

有一天，谁的黑暗

会完整。

The aquifer below us very still, the black trees

              in the park. Insects

              buzzing low to the ground.

To stand next to your body without puzzlement or distrust,

              smell of dry grass,

              the cells of daylight in a leaf, the drop

              of a hand—you brought your hand

                            to my face and grasped my neck,

              metallic—playful and senseless.

You know how things we didn’t bother to say

              have now taken up a space that extends

              out. The sun returns.

A jolt in the muscle, a loss,

              but you’ve been through it before.

Cool afternoons in October you spend by the window.

              Each unarrested

              habit. A faint splash of leaves.

And each nightlong hunger.

Each small song, whose darkness

               will one day be complete.