Love of Life
Shared days, we engrave in our palms
There, three lines are linked by another one. A bloodstone of memory
Grows in the clasped hands into a small universe of its own;
Retrospection, however minute, will not locate where the stars
The primitive low fever burns into are embedded on the domes
When a drop of emptiness at a night trickles in the morning,
Is it a beginning or an end? In Time’s whirlpool we breathe
Jan. 2, 2010
一生
共有的日子，我们将它们映在各自的掌心
三条线被另一条断续地连接。记忆的鸡血石
从相携的手中长成小小的宇宙，回顾
再细致也无法确认那最原始的低烧
灼成了哪两颗星，镶在手掌的穹拱
当某夜的一颗空寂在翌晨沥沥，那是始还是终
在时间的漩涡中我们呼吸
2010/1/2
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