The woman is perfected.

这个女人尽善尽美了，

Her dead

她的死

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

身体带着圆满的微笑，

The illusion of a Greek necessity

一种希腊式的悲剧结局

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

在她长裙的褶缝上幻现

Her bare

她赤裸的

Feet seem to be saying:

双脚像是在诉说

We have come so far, it is over.

我们来自远方，现在到站了，

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

每一个死去的孩子都蜷缩着，像一窝白蛇

One at each little

各自有一个小小的

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

早已空荡荡的牛奶罐

She has folded

它把他们

Them back into her body as petals

搂进怀抱，就像玫瑰花

Of a rose close when the garden

合上花瓣，在花园里

Stiffens and odors bleed

僵冷，死之光

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

从甜美、纵深的喉管里溢出芬芳。

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

月亮已无哀可悲，

Staring from her hood of bone.

从她的骨缝射出凝睇。

She is used to this sort of thing.

它已习惯于这种事情。

Her blacks crackle and drag.

黑色长裙缓缓拖拽，悉悉作响。