別數算我們的日子

一切都改變

當東風呼嘯而過，帶走我們的身體，但我

跟隨你的足迹，直到太海︰

在白色的波浪躡足在沙垻之處

在岩石靜躺於沾濕的肌膚之下

自我認識你

我借你的雙目審視人世

我所聆聽，都是通過你而聽到的︰

彷彿有第二個世界存在

請給我讀出海灘上散落的玻璃碎片

請給我翻譯海鷗落入深海的召喚

可是，別數算我們的日子︰

別數算擱淺的貝殼裏被困的沙礫

自我認識你

我借你的雙耳諦聽預言

我所看見，都是通過你而見到︰

彷彿有第二個世界存在

Do Not Count Our Days

Everything changed when the

east wind whisked our bodies away. But I

followed your tracks to the sea: to where

white waves tiptoe onto land,

and rocks rest under watery skin.

Since I have known you,

I borrow your eyes to observe the world,

and what I hear, I hear through you:

as though there was a second world.

Read to me from the glass shards shattered

on the beach. Translate for me the cries

white seagulls drop into the deep. But do not

count our days: do not count the sand

that is hidden in those stranded shells.

Since I have known you,

I borrow your ears to listen to prophecies,

and what I see, I see through you:

as though there was a second world.

Water at Night

In the middle of every night,

the moon’s noise wakes me.

I hear water everywhere.

Water that whispers in capillaries.

Water that hides under cracks.

Water white with soap.

Water quiet from coal.                                                                                                       

Water that drips into the aquarium.

Water that leaps from the roof.

Water that cascades down the stairs.

Water that rushes over the road.

Water always goes the path of least resistance.

Water always finds a way.

Water has ways to flow in places far away.

You can cross the waters to America.

Or to the Cape of Good Hope.

Water scuttles ice down the Red River.

Water mollifies the leatherbacks in Nicobar.

Water carries you through monsoon jungles,

and eases you down to warlorn submarines.

Half asleep I search for the white bucket,
like every night,
fill it with warm water.
Water draws women to the well,
where it changes from dark to light.

I reach for my father’s weary feet
that have come in from the dusty road,
like every night,

to wash his tiredness away.
Water washes away guilt.
But his chair is empty.
The pillow has fallen
onto the exhausted rug.

Water is a carpet to the faithful.

Water is always more than itself.

Or less, the Mariner says.
Yes, I envy the ocean’s generosity,
that lets its fish swim freely.

I pour the bucket to the fish.

It changes from dark to light.

I feel water everywhere.
It is rising to my eyes.

Maybe I, too, have lived too long
Where I can be reached.*

*Rumi