重新校准--波利.白金汉姆

修理工夜里到来修理
被雷击了的电话线。

他拧开一个装着接头的金属盒子，
一团缠在一起的彩色线散了出来

像一场模糊记得的梦。好了，
他说。但永远不会一样了。

我站在路上，目送他
驱车进入灰色的黎明，他的手掌

支撑在打开的窗户上。
The repairman arrives at night to fix
the telephone wires fried by lightning.

He unscrews a metal box encasing a joint,
and a tangle of colored cords spills out

like a half-remembered dream. It works,
he says. But it will never be the same.

I stand in the road and watch him
drive into the gray dawn, his palm

held open out the window.