（给B姓某人）

Remember, when you held my hand

over a restaurant-table

还记得吗，在巴黎圣母院的阴影中，

in the shadow of Notre Dame.

你越过餐馆的桌子，

Already, my head was flying,

握住我的手？

I wanted this wild happiness

在此之前，我的脑袋已经飞起来，

我希望这种狂野的幸福，

to last. ‘I'll have that hand’,

you said, and we grinned at our beginnings

能到永远。“我想要这只手”，

which were also endings —

你说，我们咧嘴微笑

the past without you seemed remote.

在我们的起点，也是我们的终点

Here was the postscript

——没有你的日子看起来如此遥远。

该说的已经说了，

I'd been searching for

以下是附加的话：

proving life could begin again

at thirty-five or forty

我一直在试图证明

as we stormed landings,

生活可以重新开始

scanned futures

在35岁或者40岁，

当我们暴风中着陆，

felt love sitting lightly

对未来进行扫描时，

on our shoulders, a cocoon

spun and spun, busy with

感到“爱”轻柔地坐在

perfections — holding whole days

我们的肩头，一个蚕茧

in its embrace.

转啊转，忙碌于

编织完美——把所有的日子

拥进它的怀抱中。