My father stands in the warm evening

温热的傍晚我的父亲站在

on the porch of my first house.

我住的第一所房子的门廊。

I am four years old and growing tired.

我四岁了，正在发困。

I see his head among the stars,

我看到他的头在在星星之间

the glow of his cigarette, redder

他香烟的光芒

than the summer moon riding

比夏天低垂在老街上

low over the old neighborhood. We

的月亮还要红。只有

are alone, and he asks me if I am happy.

我们两人，他问我是否快乐

“Are you happy?” I cannot answer.

"你幸福吗？" 我无法回答。

I do not really understand the word,

我真的不懂这个词

and the voice, my father’s voice, is not

还有那声音，父亲的声音也不是

his voice, but somehow thick and choked,

他的声音，而是莫名的厚重和哽咽，

a voice I have not heard before, but

我以前从未听过的声音，但

heard often since. He bends and passes

后来经常听到。他弯下腰

a thumb beneath each of my eyes.

用拇指在我眼睛下面都按了按。

The cigarette is gone, but I can smell

香烟不见了，但我能闻到

the tiredness that hangs on his breath.

弥漫在他呼吸中的疲惫。

He has found nothing, and he smiles

他什么也没找到，微笑着

and holds my head with both his hands.

用双手搂住我的头。

Then he lifts me to his shoulder,

然后把我抱到他的肩上，

and now I too am among the stars,

现在我也在星星之间了，

as tall as he. Are you happy? I say.

和他一样高。你幸福吗？我说。

He nods in answer, Yes! oh yes! oh yes!

他点头回答：是！噢，是的！噢，是的！

And in that new voice he says nothing,

在新的声音里他什么也没说，

holding my head tight against his head,

把我的头紧靠在他的头上，

his eyes closed up against the starlight,

他的眼睛闭着，迎着星光，

as though those tiny blinking eyes

仿佛那些眨动的小小的光的

of light might find a tall, gaunt child

眼睛能找到一个高大憔悴的孩子

holding his child against the promises

抱着他的孩子迎接秋天的

of autumn, until the boy slept

承诺，直到男孩睡去

never to waken in that world again.

再也不会在那个世界醒来。