东方然后西方--尼克.哈普

我想我在地里看见了你们：裂开的
互相碰触的野豌豆。灼灼隆起的金鸡菊。黑眼睛苏珊花
盯着东方，然后西方，
鲁莽的人，如年鉴一样继续存在。

或许回忆和隐喻一样。
我不能忘记你胸腔内换羽的鸟儿
或者停止为此聆听。为陷入灌木丛而发愁，当然，如果。
或许回忆是银色的消遣的失败。

我在我们之间大空间里的枢轴上转动。我在枢轴
上转动，在太阳下焦躁不安
它同样平均地照着地球两侧。

铺展的蓝茎草，刷刷花，网茅草。
对我来说很棘手
太阳射出怎样的蜡光之箭啊
射到这些绿色的植物上，
变成这个地方，我的家。自此
我要抢着告诉你我相信他们不是才怪
I thought I saw you in the soil: crazing rubs
of vetch. The kindled hunch of tickseed. Black-eyed Susan
staring east then west,
madcap, alive as an almanac.

Maybe memory's the same as metaphor.
The molting bird inside your chest I can't forget
or stop listening for. Fretting into thickets, it goes perhaps, perhaps.
Maybe memory's a silver failure of recreation.

I pivot in the big space between us. I pivot
and fret beneath the sun
which lights both sides of the earth equally
on average.

Splay of bluestem, bottlebrush,
cordgrass. It's tough for me to say
how these sunshot greens,
arrows of wax and light,
become this place, my home. From here
I reach to tell you I believe they do