1
　　From the hill 托罗普提尼 houses down,
　　I am naked in the sharp two-foot stone, raw so.
　　That is the most appropriate repentance. Pakistani village on the road
　　Filled with cold dust, and I can see
　　Ax moon slowly slipped behind a tree,
　　Shot out the windows of the church red light,
　　Like a pack of demons, and in this place
　　The devil is real. Above the church door, the old
　　Honeycomb wrapped in moonlight, the bees hum loud.
　　I went into the church door, knelt down to pray, and then out of,
　　Climb the hill, convent above the horse farm
　　I went through the frightened horses. Now, one or two tribes of people
　　Has returned to the big room - you let me do,
　　Christ the Lord? I play the game you and I have been turned into boulders
　　3
　　Now our meat has been eaten, but in that way
　　Grace Church back shoulder of a goat,
　　I was taken aback. He asked me, "Do you know what
　　The slaughter of learning? "I replied:" That's not a bad thing! "
　　And tonight, I opened a book Debray revolutionaries,
　　Two candles burning on the table, we see the wall
　　Sergio father gave us many heroes on the cross,
　　Grace Church dial ring guitar, Kate in the long-winded,
　　The other a house, Fu Lanxi in the bath;
　　Good dinner: half a sheep heart, a kidney, a testicle,
　　There cabbage and soybeans. Hill outside
　　Owl loud screaming birds, like the human voice,
　　Pakistani villagers told us that this is someone to die,
　　Anyone can. But tonight we are safe.
　　5
　　At the moment an open world, "self" as a sentinel
　　Temporarily close your eyes in front of the soul;
　　Like today, a group of pigeons
　　In a river on flapping wings,
　　I am prepared to go that river bath, naked,
　　Lift the water to my thigh;
　　Then I walk around barefoot marching smooth boulders,
　　I thought: "The world does not need
　　Then there is a Heaven "- but the sky purple cloud head
　　Soon the rain come down, I hid
　　Under the willow and thorns, as previously
　　Just avoid the Father. I am back to Fu Lanxi
　　A wet and wild mint sprig,
　　Tomorrow it will grow as the potato-like.
　　11
　　Often when I walk in the germination of fig Shupang,
　　Or stepping on a boulder in the river,
　　I met my dead father's face,
　　Also on the chin with twelve white students to be short,
　　Safety razor lost. In his youth,
　　He was holding a razor sharp ivory handle,
　　Very skilled scraped cheek,
　　Smooth blue skin scrapings. "Old", I said,
　　"I have loved you long time, many people still love you,
　　Whether there will be an opportunity for your son and you
　　"Star in the realm of summer meet?" He quietly
　　Away from me, but if because of his touch
　　That _set_ off by the rounded leaves become more green figs,
　　It becomes more dazzling midday sun.
　　23
　　Here, in the end of the corridor,
　　Heat penetrated my bones again.
　　Saudi wahi Figure an hour to an hour old
　　Salvage the rain and flooding could not leaking roof tank
　　Put on new wood. And when I asked him why,
　　He replied, "to work for the first"
　　"Working for God" - the day the house repaired
　　In my previous house students from the stove;
　　Stove is second-hand, in the desolate post Nepalese twenty dollars only,
　　Its lid is broken - firewood, stoves, matches everything evil;
　　The first root flame Jumping - so the room
　　No longer have that clean fire exists.
　　That fire burning bright now and forever in the hearts of the whole tribe
　　For the world, this thing easy to understand.
　　39
　　Our dream is the core of the cave,
　　Translated it to the world brothels. Margaret
　　She gave me about a dream: On beach,
　　A house on the grass, the old, there is confusion of the path,
　　Upstairs downstairs was full of sleep the entire tribe,
　　Three big waves coming from the sea
　　Washed houses, but it is not washed away,
　　Although there is then a little while, they have obscured the sun and the moon;
　　I think people must have a shelter
　　A home, a flesh and blood of God, a mother,
　　Have the time, place, and not just in the abstract of a vacuum
　　Find themselves. In that wall, they
　　Reached into the paint bucket, the fingerprint is printed on the wall
　　As the cave in the era of Margaret Delin hunters.

　　4
　　
　　高大的绿色山丘，我管它叫卡瓦里山
　　也许只有一百英尺高，
　　
　　它却填满厨房的窗户。告诉你们，今天我晚上
　　羊迹斑斑的山顶，发现三根标杆
　　
　　醒目地耸立。标杆后面有一小片松林，
　　树干好似——嗯，我想到木筏、房顶上的树
　　
　　和航海的独木舟，我没有拾捡
　　一颗松球一根松枝，我想：“它们属于塔玛神，
　　
　　在他的胸腔内世界安睡。”——而当我在
　　回来的路上步下溪谷，一只小野牛的
　　
　　暴凸出来的眼睛
　　在白毛环绕的眼眶中抽动，
　　
　　它从我身边猛然窜开——聪明地嗅着
　　统驭众生、变幻莫测的塔玛神的气息。
　　
　　10
　　
　　黑暗的夜空里只有星星，
　　人称它们是“天空的萤火”——
　　
　　想一想上帝，我感到寒冷——我穿过
　　小牧场，为另一个使命；
　　
　　牛群在门外行动迟缓
　　它们半夜就在那里睡觉——然而我走来，
　　
　　我走来就像我偶尔跨进教堂
　　又一次跪在神龛下。
　　
　　人呵，那是神的屏障，神的思想并不寒冷！
　　我不敢说出是什么火在我的胸肋下燃烧
　　
　　无论过去还是现在——但神与我一同
　　回到我的房间；让这个疯子填饱肚子，
　　
　　分享我愚蠢的祈祷，携带我飞升，
　　如同母鹰用翅膀托起雏鹰。
　　
　　27
　　
　　在我衣服的衬里中我摸到
　　一小段树枝，上有三枚黑蓓蕾，三位一体，
　　
　　我在福尔坎巷尽头R·S·A大厦对面的
　　一棵树上折下它，折下它就把它忘记。
　　
　　那里，我本可以丢下我的风衣
　　坐在草地上盘腿沉思；就会
　　
　　有一位姑娘坐到我的身旁；
　　当树上的枝条发黑，她会手持
　　
　　一朵蓝色的花站立在斗牛场中央
　　于是枝条重新吐绿——她很年轻——
　　
　　我会说：“我的衣服我的钱，统统拿去。”——
　　她会走开，但是因为我什么都没给她
　　
　　她又会重新回来，回来分担我的赤贫，
　　像一只鸟在一片空旷中筑巢。