一幅画的坐标
诗者今儿
惨淡，冷漠，呷一口碎骨的穆顿
蝴蝶泉幽灵四起，这是花萼娇喘而又弥漫的爱情
端庄得体的湖畔，以及捉摸不定的喝彩，或者君子般的光束，而它的另一端
愚钝到了别乡——那里房屋低矮
禅意散碎，没有波澜，静寂得看不到一丝蚊蝇的行踪
我俯身，借着微光打开的现实主义
湖畔肯定了我的粉红四月
虽然我的声音有些忧伤，不够辽阔，像是一幅画的坐标
也许幽深的黄昏下，会有冰凉的唇痕
我要展开腰身，把旗袍写上诗句，勾勒上成精的雪
翅膀的猩红。满目潮湿的胸口
乳房忠实可靠地舒展汉字的眼角和怒放在宿命一隅的袈裟
存放在岁月里的沉疴
现实跨越了昏睡，也就是说木门上沉寂的时间
是罗塞蒂茂密的森林，置身在“纪念永生的智慧而立的碑石”*
*选自叶芝诗集
The coordinates of a painting
Bleak, detached, a sip of bone-crashing solemnness
Apparition emerging around Butterfly Spring,
this is the suffusing love of calyx in mincing breathes
The dignified lakeside, and unfathomable acclaims,
or the gentleman-like light beam, but at its other end
Stupidity is so much as reaching a foreign land,
where houses are low-rise
Meditative ambience falling apart, no ripples,
so quiet as nowhere to see a trace of an insect
I leaned forward, to open up realism in the twilight
The lakeside was affirmative of being in my pink April
In spite of my voice being somewhat sad,
not extensive enough, like the coordinates of a painting
Perhaps in the deep dusk of evening, there are cold kiss prints
I want to stretch my feminine figure, in a princess dress printed with poems,
contoured with spiritualized snows
Wings in scarlet. An eyeful of damp chest
Breasts loyally spreading the canthus of words
and a cassock that is in full bloom at a corner of fate
Lingering sickness that deposited in the years
The reality goes beyond the lethargic sleep,
that is to say that the silent time on the wooden door
is Rossetti’s dense woods,
residing in “monuments of unaging intellect”*.
*From Yeats’poetry
