我们这些采蘑菇的爱好者，

Amateurs, we gathered mushrooms

在蓬松的小桉树林旁

near shaggy eucalyptus groves

闻到樟树和雾浸湿泥土的气味。

which smelled of camphor and the fog-soaked earth.

鸡油菌，尘菌，硫磺菌，

Chanterelles,puffballs,chicken-of-the-woods,

我们用黄油、酒、

we cooked in wine or butter,

搅匀的鸡蛋或酸奶油烹煮，

beaten eggs or sour cream,

半期待着被一个错

half expecting to be

毒死。“紧张的汗水，”

killed by a mistake. "Intense perspiration,"

你深更半夜说，

you said late at night,

引用骇人的野外指南

quoting the terrifying field guide

当时我们缠结地躺在被单中，四肢沉重，

while we lay tangled in our sheets and heavy limbs,

“是毒害的首发症。”

"is the first symptom of attack."

朋友们把我们的香蘑菇叫做

Friends called our aromatic fungi

“爱之死”， 只吃那些

"liebestoads" and only ate the ones

我们最显然得以幸存的。

that we most certainly survived.

死亡不止一次震撼我们

Death shook us more than once

那些日子，那感觉像是生命

those days and floating back

漂浮回来。湿透的泥土，溜滑，

it felt like life. Earth-wet, slithery,

我们漂向事物之名。

we drifted toward the names of things.

乱丢在桌外的孢子印

Spore prints littered our table

像游移摇曳的星星。腐坏的帽子

like nervous stars. Rotting caps

散发出沃土麝香般的气息。

gave off a musky smell of loam.