我想象这座午夜时的森林：
有些什么别的东西在活动，
除了钟的孤独
以及这张移动着我的手指的白纸。
我透过窗户看见没有星辰：
有什么别的东西在临近，
虽然深深藏在黑暗中
却正在进入静寂。
冰凉，轻微得象黑暗里的雪花，
一双狐狸的鼻子触着细枝、嫩叶；
一双眼睛帮着它活动，在这里
又是这里，在这里，又是这里，
雪地上的脚印在树丛间
越来越近，一个瘸着的影子
小心翼翼地迟疑在树桩边，
一个空虚的身体大胆地来到，
穿过空地，像一只眼睛，
广阔深邃的碧绿颜色，
闪闪发亮，全神贯注，
来到干它自己的事情，直至
带着突然强烈炙热的狐狸气味
它进入了头脑里黑暗的洞穴。
窗外依然没有星辰，钟声滴答，
纸上却已印下了文字。
I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock's loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.