Valentine’s Day
It is early spring.
Night mist falls.
Trees sparsely stand.
I look down the narrow street,
and write you a letter-
the candlelight scents
of roses and chocolate.
I wear a red silk gown,
wait for a pure-accented gentleman.
I don’t speak his language.
I speak to the piling white sheets:
the wine we sipped,
the music we listened to,
the books we read
while rain dripped down your roof.
My insomnia will ride on the bus
that you rode twenty years ago.
I will take your seat, stare into the dark.
I will ask the driver to take me
to the Sunrise River,
where I removed your blue raincoat,
my red silk gown sliding down
like rose petals coiled in moonlight.
情人节
这是早春，
夜雾降临，
树零星可见。
看着狭窄的街道，
我给你写着情书－
烛光温馨四溢，
玫瑰芳香清新，
一袭红丝绸晚装的我，
等着那纯正口音的绅士。
可我不说他的语言，
却对着一扎纸片倾诉－
那些我们品尝过的红酒，
倾听的音乐，
以及欣赏的书籍
和雨自你的屋顶滴下。
我失眠在二十年前你乘坐的公车上。
我要坐在你的座位上，
看着窗外，漆黑的夜色。
我会请司机载我去往日升河，
在那儿你蓝色的雨衣脱落，
而我红丝绸的晚装滑落
如同月光下堆起的玫瑰花瓣。
