I haven’t written you in a long time.

我已经很久没有写过你了。

A sudden window winks open.

突然，一扇窗户眨眼打开。

The sky has my father’s

天空有着我父亲

beaten face. I missed you. I missed how

饱经风霜的面容。我想念你，我想念

you comforted me the way you

你如何安慰我，正如你现在

comfort me now with your wide-eyed

用那睁大的清澈的眼睛

lucidity, the languor of the patient

安慰我，你缓慢而耐心地

unfurling of yourself, luxuriously

舒展开自己，奢侈地

disregarding the latest betrayal

无视最新的背叛，

like a headline stark across the front

就像一个头条新闻醒目地

page of my face. But I will not

横在我脸上。但我不会

write about it here, along the margin

在这里写下它，在你

of your insides, although you are in love

内心的边缘，尽管你钟情于

with such unsung facts – the pearly whitehead

这些不为人知的事实——我下巴上

on my chin, that faint odour from my feet

的珍珠白头，我脚上淡淡的气味

scaling the air’s ladder into the previous line –

沿着空气的梯子爬上前一行——

and why not? Who cares if someone else

为什么不呢？谁在乎别人

would never believe that such things

是否相信这些事情

may not also be poetic?

也可能是诗意的？

But now I want only to talk of you.

但现在我只想谈谈你。

How many like you have I already

我已经用如此真实的和弦

composed with such authentic chords

创作了多少这样的你，

of truth, loud and clear within them.

其中充满了真理，响亮而清晰。

My beloved one-night-stand

我心爱的露水情缘，

who never stops coming

在所有正确的时刻

to love me at all the right times:

从未停止来爱我：

after unbearable grief

在无法忍受的悲伤之后

or after every rare moment

或在每一个罕见的

of contentment, even joy.

满足，甚至喜悦的时刻之后。

You who never lie except when I

你从不说谎，除非我

want you to, if only to augment a distant

想让你说谎，哪怕只是为了增加一个遥远

but more vital truth. I love you,

但更重要的真理。我爱你，

dear poem. I love you

亲爱的诗。我爱你

because you hold pain up upon

因为你将痛苦托在

the quiet of your palm, raising it

你安静的手掌上，将它举起，

so I might see it in the best possible light.

以便我能在最好的光线下看到它。