Yuan 光线的暖流
一波一波地登岸
我在青草坟墓等你
在日光的骨灰中等你
你的眸子露珠滚动
从一朵勿忘我花凝视我
我在心的湿地准备好花圈
黎明的星星眨眼不定
其实，相会地点不是问题
可以在风中，在脚步中
在眼睫毛的倏跳中
在一个词与另一个词的互动中
在案前的低眉里
在如诉如泣的松涛里
相遇没有何时之问
关上的门实际上虚掩着
你随时可以来
我随时可以去
无论丢失了什么
无论是因缘的肉身
岁月五音盒中的珍珠眼泪
还是丝绢滑软的记忆
都不必过分忧惧，毕竟
剩下的还有淡香的梦，还有希冀
You think of the sea on your birthday
The seawater of time splits
You walk through the narrow channel
Your body is composed of water
The water is slowly draining out
Your head emerges from the snail shell of water drop
The surrounding laughter raises spindrift
The boat will not return to the tree of hunting
You are no longer the raging fire
Voyage, leading to a white island
Clouds look like the cream of cake
The carmine sunset
makes your birthday card
The shadow beside the card
is caught by your glimpse
The flashlight beam of eyes
not sure how long it can resist the dark
Your mood at slopes of the sea
makes some thrilling actions
The wave of your heart, slowly raises the shadow of island
It can be said, this is a sort of mature
In the prairie of sea
you are a lost sheep
The big black bear of night
is forcing you toward the small island
Age does not measure
the distance between you and the island
Anything could happen
Happiness could reverse
Suffering could become a blessing
To the north of sunshine is not necessarily the shadow
Separation by distance, could make you fear
but also give you the mystery, imagination, and sweetness
If possible, you would choose
not to be born
But now it is not the case
then, try to be as calm as the sea
Accept the sunshine, also accept the rain
And be prepared, finally board on that white island
你一生都有羊的烙印
从初生的咩咩欢叫
到经年的成熟
你，如一阵轻风卷地
在野花星点的草上奋蹄
鼓胀着强健的三头肌
你的本性是柔和的
像一个心地纯真的孩子
对照出这个世界
无数的宰杀和陷阱
你对世俗标准始终说不
当相遇于四月的祭坛
你信心一跃，毫不犹豫
将自己全然摆上
然后双目紧闭
将准备过无数次的彩排
再做一遍，深知这一次
是最后一次了
你听见浑厚悲壮的颂歌
从牧者的天空溢出
有海螺低沉的男声部
和白丝绢飘逸的女声部
歌声连同你的祈祷声
如燔祭之后的青烟
从十字架缓缓上升，滴着血
退去坟墓的躯壳
你重生，身轻如魂
Early wet violet leaf
Whose sword with a red tassel
splits the long night
On April path, no lad approaching
Until many years later memory recalls
there was a flower stem broken
A vivid pink face, under the wall
on the ground after rain, standing as
a silent pyramid
Along that curved path
my eyes were locked in your tower
In that damp cold weather
how I wished to pick up
your bowknot washed away by rain
However, I remained motionless
Your story had touched me
Have you so decisively
broken through the curfew posted by the big cold gray wall?
April’s eyes are soft, like sparkling on the waves
You bowed, dancing at leisure
in the shadow of the wall, opened an umbrella, a smiling book
with a quick glance, in a page
I discovered Shiva dancer, the scarlet beauty spot between the eyebrows
Were there a need to repeatedly emphasize
the wind of May would come, that
young man you have been waiting for so long
would come? Tell me, tonight
how many times have you had this Cinderella Dream?
没有地址
一封信无法寄出
但你觉得该说的都说了
它们浮游于芬芳的空气
变得更加丰满
消除了一纸墙角的孤僻
和一览无余的平面
连同梦中的向隅而泣
它们吸收了空中的潮润
不再干脆，而是具有韧性了
既然一切和盘托出的
都蛰居在空气里
它们就不会静止不动
而是会出游天下
寻找那个未留下地址的人
直到进入她的梦
进入她的呼吸，进入她
收到信后的惊喜
像蛇盘绕挥之不去的预感
为你的记忆加温
道路通达，寂静的庭院
响起一串黄昏的风铃
多么像当年邮递员
自行车的铃声
Twelve roses are twelve zodiacal constellations
To win the sun’s favor, competing gorgeously
Early spring buds start from Aries
riding on the wings of the green wind
until each rose is made
into a beautiful day
hanging on the pale wall of time
Does anyone know tonight who is waiting for whom?
whose secret is this? And to whom it speaks to?
The warmness of night song breezes us
But we have fallen into sleep
still holding in hand that rose
Autumn in the stream, laying funeral flowers of Daiyu
or possibly Hamlet’s Ophelia
Rose petals float away with her
A dead leaf appears on the shore
The hands we stretched out to roses
have only caught a dead leaf
The dilemma of existence, just like our palm prints
Still remember your delicate fingers
like plumage walking in my palm
lingering in my lifeline
But who can tell me the earth’s blood vessel
the secret of roses and dead leaves?
Twelve roses and a girl dressed in scarlet
are both the gifts of the earth
The dead leaves
clearly record the palm print of the earth
新月的第一天
像一块刚开垦的处女地
想收获什么就种什么
又像一件洗净的棉织衣
散发出淡雅的香味
静静等候你梳洗更衣
时间每一刻都是新的
重复的是我们的体态
我们移动的位置
我们身上的汗味和腐味
时间清洗我们
我们不断地整洁
不断地污秽
不断被时间切割
变成多时态的实体位格
我们不断忏悔
又不断地犯错误
新月第一天我们是洁净的
虽然只是片刻的感觉，也
总比尘垢在心里吞云吐雾
遮住青山的信念要好
如果你错过了新年第一天
仍可以用新月第一天去补救
The orange-colored leaves
carpet the terrace quietly
in the wind’s knocking
Your letter comes late
I understand, every leaf’s mature
is the negation of mature itself
The fluid of your full emotion
along the veins of life
flows smoothly and deeply
One says you have crossed the Yangtze River
Another says you have crossed the Pacific Ocean
The door casts its heavy eyes
on the words of leaves combination
The time embroidered on leaf veins
like feather flies in my eyes
In which book that tender sparkling leaf
has become a bookmark?
We cheers each other remotely
raising the cup of sunset light
toasting the whole past
Roses with thorns
flowers and leaves long lying in soil
only thorn has left
The expectation of bank has become
the memory of water
In undulating waves of time
we row a tiny boat
The waves subside, we are grounded
becoming shells
Whose sigh
is playing zither alone in the wind?
Lost memories automatically come back
riding a skinny horse
into your
deciduous forests
语音的织网
往往跟在鱼汛后面
宣告新一轮钩子
无非是强调语言的新用法
尖锐，锋利，钩沉
但不一定，处处勾魂
作为艺术，还是作为工具？
语势的平衡在于自信
并非只有湖面的镜子
才能照出存在的碰触点
入夜之后
黎明无时不在准备自己
在万般不适中
你感到太阳脱臼
手心的钉子随雨抛撒
缓慢的钢琴声赶不上雨步
你铺纸沉思
听见烧红的烙铁
在一个奴隶背上的吱吱声
存在的连接充满极化
关系的赤裸
在于一来一去的同义反复
当你赏花，花并不赏你
通过颠倒，历史成了当下
当下成了循规蹈矩
你下笔千言，其实一言可蔽之
The eve of golden falls
Hangs on your shady cliff
Let my blood flow under your eyes
Let the night wave a soft blanket
Gently hold my beating heart rolling from the Sun
Will experience deep but nontransparent days
Will arrive at a silent shore of stars, where sands wait for
being swept away
My sigh lives in a song of wave
Longing for entering your closed cabin
Bearing the heavy March I cannot stop my steps
My string plays the rain of night and mud of dawn
The eyesight flowing from a cold window cannot heat the stones
They chime in my mild melancholy melody
The waiting heart is an arrow off bowl
Running wildly for a secrete word
For being at a long forgotten field
Sowing seeds, outgrowing wheat