是的，是的，你不可能踏进同一条河流两次，
但尽管如此，在我的生活中
这条河是变化最小的事物之一，
踏入其中，总是感觉像回到了久远
熟悉的事物之中，
其铜色的稳定的水流
围着我的小腿流动，然后流过我的大腿
我唯一的高筒防水胶靴，一条旧短裤。
飞钓竿举过我的头顶，我的另一条手臂伸出
保持平衡，像某种舞蹈，
尽力不要在长满青苔的石头上滑到，
我朝远处的那块大岩石走去
我想要在那里垂钓，苔藓斑驳
已经干成铁锈黄色，一个河流中心的小岛
哲学家可能习惯于描述为
静止和流动相对比，转化之中的存在，
在某些辩论之中，那大过任何
现在让我感兴趣的东西
我水淋淋低爬出来到那块巨砾上
我抛出我的钓线，到泡泡冒出的水道上
拖成一个V形，那指向鱼儿可能在的地方，
在河水的流动中稳稳地握着。
Yes, yes, you can’t step into the same
river twice, but all the same, this river
is one of the things that has changed
least in my life, and stepping into it
always feels like returning to something
far back and familiar, its steady current
of coppery water flowing around my calves
and then my thighs, my only waders
a pair of old shorts. Holding a fly rod
above my head, my other arm out
for balance, like some kind of dance,
trying not to slip on the mossy rocks,
I make my way out to the big rock
I want to fish from, mottled with lichen
that has dried to rusty orange, a small
midstream island that a philosopher
might use to represent stasis
versus flux, being amidst becoming,
in some argument that is larger
than any that interests me now
as I climb out dripping onto the boulder
and cast my line out to where the bubbles
form a channel and trail off in a V
that points to where the fish might be,
holding steady amid the river’s flow.
