晴夜，月亮的拇指尖，一片逆光的天空。

Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky.

月亮的手指照常放置于

Moon-fingers lay down their same routine

舷边甲板，门槛，白钥匙和黑

On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys.

钥匙上。

Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.

鸟之缄默和鸟之歌唱。一朵肉桂花掉落。

I want to be bruised by God.

我渴望被上帝擦伤。

I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.

我渴望悬挂于一阵强光中，被挑选出来。

I want to be stretched, like music wrung from a dropped seed.

我渴望延伸，犹如音乐自一颗掉落的种子拧紧。

I want to be entered and picked clean.

我渴望被进入，被采摘干净。

And the wind says “What?” to me.

风对我说道，“什么？”。

And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say “What?” to me.

蓖麻籽，带着它们小小的死亡之耳环，对我

And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.

说道，“什么？”。

And the gears notch and the engines wheel.

星星出发，冰冷地滑入黑暗。

齿轮嵌入，引擎转动。