得克萨斯，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，美丽地——

              at a cloud or strange sound.

有些人不再偏过头来

看一片云，或听某种奇怪的声响。

You know the way some people belong

你知道有些人

              so much to one another

如此属于彼此，

              they seem not to notice one another.

以至于他们

意识不到彼此。

Even though I’d hardly noticed you

有些人好像什么

             I let my eyes be stopped by you.

也不要——不要岁月，

甚至不要言语。

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

我能不能披一件

              effortless. But what did I feel

薄薄的外套绕在

              in my arms. Sun

我的肩上，和你一起

                            rushing through weeds.

出去走走，什么

都不说？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.

虫鸣嗡嗡，

靠近地面。

You spend a morning before the canvas, casting space.

站在你的身体旁边

没有困惑，或是

How have you reached this point in your life.

猜疑，一种割过青草的气味。

一只手的垂落——

You live in a whole world, with a tangled garden

你把手伸向

              and a sense of time.

我的脸然后握住

              The hazards held a little at bay.

我的脖颈——顽皮

又莫名其妙。

Sometimes you ask yourself questions you cannot

你知道那些

              answer. You dwell there too long.

我们懒得说出口

的事情现在占据了

You know some people seem to ask for nothing—

一片向外扩张的

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

空间。十月清凉

的午后——太阳

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

回归——可这一切

              a longing so spare I couldn’t

我都经历过。

              imagine it ending. I would wrap

然后是每个整夜的

              a thin evening coat around my shoulders

饥饿。每首小小的歌。

              and step out with you

有一天，谁的黑暗

                             saying nothing.

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.