今夜我哥哥穿着沉重的靴子，走过我头顶的空房

Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking

把门开了又关

through bare rooms over my head,

他在这空屋中到底在寻找什么？

opening and closing doors.

他在那天堂中又需要什么？

What could he be looking for in an empty house?

他是否还记得他的土地，他火炬照耀的故土？

What could he possibly need there in heaven?

他对我的爱就好像泼出来的水流回它的容器

Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches?

His love for me feels like spilled water

此刻，已死的无法安息，而活着的正在燃烧

running back to its vessel.

有人告诉他此时他该安睡了

At this hour, what is dead is restless

我父亲在我们床边留一盏灯，为我们的旅行准备着

and what is living is burning

他补着五条男孩长裤膝盖上的十个洞

Someone tell him he should sleep now.

他对我的爱好像他的针线活：

花花绿绿，太多线头，凹凸不平

My father keeps a light on by our bed

但他的手穿过，每针都是那么的干净利落

and readies for our journey.

He mends ten holes in the knees

此刻，已死的担忧着，而活着的在逃亡

of five pairs of boy's pants.

有人告诉他此时他该安睡了

His love for me is like sewing:

various colors and too much thread,

上帝啊，那老火炉，用他那一口牙说个不停

the stitching uneven. But the needle pierces

胡子在宴席上被沾脏，他的呼吸充斥着

clean through with each stroke of his hand.

汽油，飞机和人烧成的灰

他对我的爱好像火，像鸽子，像河水

At this hour, what is dead is worried

and what is living is fugitive.

此刻，已死去的多无助，和善但无助，

Someone tell him he should sleep now.

而上帝活着

God, that old furnace, keeps talking

有人告诉上帝不要再管我

with his mouth of teeth,

我已经历了他足够的爱

a beard stained at feasts, and his breath

好像火烧，飞行和逃走

of gasoline, airplane, human ash.

His love for me feels like fire,

feels like doves, feels like river-water

At this hour, what is dead is helpless, kind

and helpless. While the Lord lives.

Someone tell the Lord to leave me alone.

I've had enough of his love

that feels like burning and flight and running away