一幅畫的坐標
詩者今兒
慘淡，冷漠，呷一口碎骨的穆頓
蝴蝶泉幽靈四起，這是花萼嬌喘而又彌漫的愛情
端莊得體的湖畔，以及捉摸不定的喝彩，或者君子般的光束，而它的另一端
愚鈍到了別鄉——那裏房屋低矮
禪意散碎，沒有波瀾，靜寂得看不到一絲蚊蠅的行蹤
我俯身，借著微光打開的現實主義
湖畔肯定了我的粉紅四月
雖然我的聲音有些憂傷，不夠遼闊，像是一幅畫的坐標
也許幽深的黃昏下，會有冰涼的唇痕
我要展開腰身，把旗袍寫上詩句，勾勒上成精的雪
翅膀的猩紅。滿目潮濕的胸口
乳房忠實可靠地舒展漢字的眼角和怒放在宿命一隅的袈裟
存放在歲月裏的沉屙
現實跨越了昏睡，也就是說木門上沉寂的時間
是羅塞蒂茂密的森林，置身在“紀念永生的智慧而立的碑石”*
*選自葉芝詩集
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
