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夜并不黑；黑的是这世界。

和我再多呆一会儿吧。

 

椅背上你的双手——

那一刻我会记住。

之前，轻轻拨着我的肩膀。

像一个人训练自己  躲避内心。

 

另一间屋里，女仆小心地

熄灭我看书的灯。

 

白石灰墙的房间——

我不知道  一旦你开始流浪

它怎样跟你对峙？我想  你的眼睛

将索循它的光线，跟月光对抗。

显然，过了这么多年，你需要

距离来确认它的浓度。

 

你的手，在椅背上  拨弄

我的身体  和木头，以同样的方式。

再次像一个想感受渴望的人，

视渴望甚于一切别的举动。

 

海边，希腊农夫们的声音，

焦急地等待日出。

仿佛黎明  会让他们

从农夫变成英雄。

 

而那之前，你抱着我  因为你要走了——

这一切只是你的表现，

并非索求答案的疑问。

 

我怎么知道你爱我

除非我看见你为我悲伤。

 

DEPARTURE

 

The night isn’t dark; the world is dark.

Stay with me a little longer.

 

Your hands on the back of the chair -

that’s what I’ll remember.

Before that, lightly stroking my shoulders.

Like a man training himself to avoid the heart.

 

In the other room, the maid discreetly

putting out the light i read by.

 

The room with its chalk walls-

how will it look to you I wonder

once your exile begins? I think your eyes will seek out

its light as opposed to the moon.

Apparently, after so many years, you need

distance to make plain its intensity.

 

Your hands on the chair, stroking

my body and the wood in exactly the same way.

Like a man who wants to feel longing again,

who prizes longing above all other emotion.

 

On the beach, voices of the Greek farmers,

impatient for sunrise.

As though dawn will change them

from farmers into heroes.

 

And before that, you are holding me because you are going away—

these are statements you are making,

not questions needing answers.

 

How can I know you love me

unless I see you grieve over me?