阳光

阳光照耀，空荡荡的
院子里戴盔甲的水泵
它的铁在热乎起来，
斜挂着的水捅里

水变得稠而甜了。
太阳悬在天空
就像一个大盘子
倚着长长的

午后之墙凉着。
这时，她的双手
在烤盘上忙乱。
通红的炉子

向她发出热气浪，
她穿着沾满
面粉的厨裙
站在窗边。

有时她用鹅毛掸子
掸掉板子上的饼屑，
有时坐下，膝头宽宽，
指甲沾满白粉，

胫部粉斑斑的。
这里又有了空间，
随着两口钟的滴答声，
烤饼又涨起来。

这里有着爱
就像白铁匠的杓子
越过它的光亮
沉入食物箱中。

Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication

There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed

in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall

of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove

sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.

Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails

and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.

And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.