直立，黝黑，裹着条纹和花缎如葬礼上的
无袖长袍，鼬鼠的尾巴
炫耀鼬鼠。夜复一夜
我像客人一样期待她。

冰箱把嗡嗡声传入寂静。
我台灯暗淡下去的光波及到阳台。
小小的橙若隐若现于橙树上。
我开始紧张如窥视狂。

十一年之后我再次在整理
情书，启开“妻手”这个词
像一个陈年酒桶，仿佛它那纤细的元音
转化成了加利福尼亚黑夜的泥土

和空气。桉树那股美丽而
无用的浓烈味道说明你不在。
一口酒的后果就像要
把你呛得跌下冷枕头。

而她在那里，那只专注、有魅力、
普遍、诡秘的鼬鼠，
神话化了，非神话化了，
嗅着我五英尺以外的纸板。

昨夜一切又历历在目，就寝时
又想起你那些衣物的煤烟味，
看见你低着头，翘着尾巴在床底抽屉
寻找那件突出跳水身材的黑色睡服。

When you plunged
The light of Tuscany wavered
And swung through the pool
From top to bottom.

I loved your wet head and smashing crawl,
Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders
Surfacing and surfacing again
This year and every year since.

I sat dry-throated on the warm stones.
You were beyond me.
The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air
Thinned and disappointed.

Thank God for the slow loadening,
When I hold you now
We are close and deep
As the atmosphere on water.

My two hands are plumbed water.
You are my palpable, lithe
Otter of memory
In the pool of the moment,

Turning to swim on your back,
Each silent, thigh-shaking kick
Re-tilting the light,
Heaving the cool at your neck.

And suddenly you're out,
Back again, intent as ever,
Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt,
Printing the stones.