温经天 译
此刻淋浴喷头的
第一股冷水激在我的胸膛上
此刻太热了，此刻恰到好处，此刻
我在你的淋浴椅和
土著酋长之间的狭小区域里
转动着象海豹一样的身体，
山地大猩猩捶胸顿足
偷窥你的身体仿佛从石头里蹦出——
每根肌腱都在逆光的皮肤下
绷紧，煤的矿脉，白炽灯
沉积物，古老的贝壳，
一座山脉被疏浚并压揉。
此刻我把水缸装满，此刻
搓泡一块肥皂，闻起来有薄荷味，
在肩胛骨下面。我能感受到
你的面肌在收缩，
因为你把腿劈得足够开，
一股水可以冲洗你阴唇上的
泡沫。不需要大声说出，
那些早晨有多遥远，
在欢爱以后，你站立，
用护发素擦拭着手
再一次试图唤醒我，嘲笑
血脉试图折返该是多么徒劳。
蝉鸣声奏响刺耳的吟唱，
园丁们争论是谁剪掉了月桂树篱笆，
篱笆的影子干枯了，
草叶上的露珠结出了水印。狗的
吠叫使我们明白我们并不孤单
世界在珠涟的滴落中荡漾着
不冷不热的瀑布，就像
激流的冲刷，将我们
拉入它的暗涌中，步入你的声线
和你双手抚摸的美丽家园。并非是
肩胛骨——背鳍的脊，银鳕
斑驳的皮肤嗅闻着一大群海洋分子，
寻找它起源的水滴，
想要再次击溃水流的手臂，
想要再次因欲望和遗憾而痉挛
的臀部。我是否该把你僵硬的身体
从冰凉的出水口救出？还是说你的身体
为了保持自如而捶打着我把我
拖入水流中你被吸入的那个世界？
水太热了，当你向后靠去
冲洗头发时，我用髋骨支撑着你，
我小腹的皮肤再次感受到
你湿滑娇美的异样。
此刻血脉是多么容易涌入。
AlbaGregory W. Randall
Now the showerhead sprays my chest
with that first blast of cold water sitting in pipes,
now too hot, now just right and now
I turn my body in this small space
between your shower chair and
aboriginal chieftain, elephant seal,
mountain gorilla thumping his chest
to watch your body emerge out of stone—
every tendon tense beneath a skin
sunless, cinder-veined, incandescent
deposit of ancient seashells
a mountain range dredged and crushed.
And now I fill the pitcher, and now
lather a bar of soap smelling of peppermint
between wing bones. I can feel
your facial muscles wince
as you wrench legs far enough apart
a spout of water can wash suds
from your labia. No need to say aloud
how far away those mornings
after making love when, standing,
you’d silk your hands with conditioner
and try once more to rouse me, mocking
the futility of blood trying to rush back in.
Cicadas pump tymbals into grating chants,
gardeners bicker over who clips the laurel hedge,
its shadows shriveling, dew staining
watermarks on blades of grass. The dog
barks to let us know we’re not alone
and the world ripples in beads and dribbles
of a lukewarm cascade that is
a crash of rapids pulling us
into their undertow, into the beautiful
home of your voice, of your hands. Not
wing bones—ridges for a dorsal fin, mottled
skin of a Coho sniffing vast crowds of
ocean molecules for a droplet of its origin,
arms that want again to slash currents,
hips that want again to spasm with desire
and regret. Did I wench your recalcitrant body
out of its cold inlet? Or did your body
thrashing to stay free drag me
into a world you inhale in surges of water?
Water too hot again as you lean back
to rinse your hair as my hip bones brace you,
as the skin of my lower abdomen feels again
the slippery otherness of you.
How easily now the blood rushes in.
