德克萨斯，闷热的空气

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

暮色渐暗时的

              the highway’s streaking lights.

人行道，高速上

掠过的车灯。

Some people are always in a hurry, beautifully—

有些人总是

              some stop to tilt their heads

匆匆忙忙，优雅的-

              at a cloud or strange sound.

有些人停下来

把他们的头歪向

You know the way some people belong

云或奇怪的声响。

              so much to one another

你知道有些人

              they seem not to notice one another.

如此属于彼此

以至于他们好像

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

都不要-不要年月，

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

甚至不要言语。

              effortless. But what did I feel

我可以

              in my arms. Sun

披一件薄外套绕在肩膀

                            rushing through weeds.

一言不发

的和你出门吗？在我们脚下

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

静置的含水层，

              like a woman’s back

公园里黑色的树。

              as she reaches for a glass of water.

昆虫靠近地面低鸣。

站在你的身体旁

You spend a morning before the canvas, casting space.

没有困惑，或是

猜疑，一阵割过青草的气味，

How have you reached this point in your life.

一支垂下的手-

你把手伸向我的脸

You live in a whole world, with a tangled garden

握住我的脖子-顽皮

              and a sense of time.

又莫名其妙。

              The hazards held a little at bay.

你知道那些

我们懒得说出口

Sometimes you ask yourself questions you cannot

的事情现在占据了

              answer. You dwell there too long.

一片向外扩张的空间。十月

清凉的下午-太阳

You know some people seem to ask for nothing—

又出现-可我已经

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

经历过这一切。

接着是每个整夜的

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

饥饿。每一首小的歌。

              a longing so spare I couldn’t

谁的黑暗将在某一天

              imagine it ending. I would wrap

完整

              a thin evening coat around my shoulders

              and step out with you

                             saying nothing.

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.