The moon drops one or two feathers into the fields.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air,
now she is goneWholly,
into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine. 作者: 叶如钢 时间: 2016-1-14 09:56
很美的一首诗。 翻译得很好。 （个别地方还可斟酌。）
问候黎释。作者: 黍黎释 时间: 2016-1-14 10:22
