靈魂有時附體，
不會時刻在身，
須臾不離。
它也許會遊於身外，
日復一日
年復一年。
有時
它會為童年的恐懼和狂喜
駐足片刻，
有時會因我們對年華已逝的訝異
稍作停留。
它很少出手，
看着我們艱於應對：
挪傢具，
搬行李，
穿着夾腳的鞋趕路。
它常常離身，
當我們有肉要剁，
有表格要填之時。
一千次的談話，
它衹參與一次——
還嫌多餘，
因為它偏愛沉默。
當我們的肉體由麻痛變為劇痛，
它便悄然開溜。
它愛挑剔，
不喜歡我們躋身人群、爭名逐利，
討厭我們慣使詭計。
在它眼裏，
喜憂無甚差別，
唯等喜憂交會，
方纔附身效勞。
它並不可靠，
除非我們對萬事都不確信，
卻對萬物充滿好奇。
對於實物，
它偏愛帶鐘擺的時鐘，還有
即便無人端詳
也不輟勞作的鏡子。
它不自報傢門，
也不言下次何時離身，
儘管對這類問題，
它已不覺新鮮。
我們需要靈魂。
可很明顯，
它也需要我們——
因着某個緣由。
We have a soul at times.
No one's got it non-stop,
for keeps.
Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.
Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood's fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.
It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.
It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
or forms have to be filled.
For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.
Just when our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.
It's picky:
it doesn't like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.
Joy and sorrow
aren't two different feelings for it.
It attends us
only when the two are joined.
We can count on it
when we're sure of nothing
and curious about everything.
Among the material objects
it favors clocks with pendulums
and mirrors, which keep on working
even when no one is looking.
It won't say where it comes from
or when it's taking off again,
though it's clearly expecting such questions.
We need it
but apparently
it needs us
for some reason too.