Only Our Fingertips Touch
by Fan Jinghua
In each other’s secret garden we plant saplings of exaltation
And what we have never expected appease us with soul tonics
A beautiful flower or two human forms interface
Between us with a crystal-like screen, sliding or superimposing
Our hands stretched out, only fingertips could touch
And out of forked tongues fog hisses, the ethereal liquid
Cold and temperate, emulsified with light and darkness
Yes, when fingertips touch, our eyes have to be closed
So that all the times melt into the present
And all the distances curdle into a remote island
When your thumbs and forefingers couple and frame out an empty heart
You lower your heart and find it a home, your womb
Sucking the flowing water and straying clouds of my imagination
As if a tornado is taking water from the sky, writhing without pain
Oct. 25, 2010
惟有指尖相触
在彼此的秘园中栽种一棵棵喜悦
原非我们不期的，滋养我们的灵
另外，还有两个人或者一朵花
将我们隔开，纯粹而澄明
我们伸手，只能触及彼此的指尖
嘶嘶地吐出芯子和烟雾，那幻化的乳剂
平、冷、硬，内含着光与黑暗的游动
是的，指尖相触时惟有倜然闭目
所有的时间便凝聚为此刻
所有的空间都融化为天涯
你的拇指与食指成对，圈起一颗心形的框子
将心放低，进住它的新居，你的子宫
吸取我流水行云的想象，犹如我头顶着
一条吸水龙，扭曲但不是痛苦
2010年10月25日
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