PICASSO DIED THIS MORNING

After frittering away the remaining afternoon

I walk up to the window many times

to see if the sky holds any last surprise

As it hangs over my neighbor’s roof

the sun seems almost

immortal.  Picasso died this morning

I wonder what tunes the three musicians

are going to play

which way the dove

is going to fly

Having shown us the world is still

soft and kneadable

the master hands are now withdrawing

I reach out unconsciously

but realizing how childish it must be

I turn my grasping hands to clapping

今天上午毕卡索死了

静静把多余的午后消磨掉

好几次走近窗口

看天上

是否出现最后一个惊奇

那颗太阳在邻居的屋顶上

久久落不下去几乎使我想起

永恒。今天上午毕卡索死了

不知那三个乐师

要奏些什么曲调

不知那只灰鸽

要往哪个方向飞

这双顽皮的手

伸进来显示

这世界还柔软得可捏可塑

现在却悄悄缩回去了

我下意识地伸出双手想挽留它们

却猛觉这举动的幼稚可笑

便顺势为它们热烈鼓起掌来