那是屠夫的手。

There was the butcher’s hand.

他捏挤着，鲜血

He squeezed it and the blood

从指间喷薄而出。

Spurted from between the fingers

肉体倒地。

And fell to the floor.

And then the body fell.

后来，在夜里，

冰岛的风，和

So afterward, at night,

锡兰的风

The wind of Iceland and

汇合，揪住我的脑，

The wind of Ceylon,

揪着，殴打着我的思想。

Meeting, gripped my mind.

Gripped it and grappled my thoughts.

海上的黑风

和绿风

The black wind of the sea

翻旋着我。

And the green wind

脑中的血

Whirled upon me.

倒地。我入睡。

The blood of the mind fell

To the floor. I slept.

但我内部是另一个汉子

可以高耸入云，

Yet there was a man within me

可以把玩这些风，

Could have risen to the clouds,

可以折断它们，也可以

Could have touched these winds.

在天空摆出一个亮相。

Bent and broken them down.

Could have stood up sharply in the sky.