Even the shadows listen. Not many gazes.
We travel, and the road hesitates.
We can see the sea and thus
traces of whales. Just listen,
as the day meets its shadow, and heals.
The grass on the hillside
pales the singular absolute, envy
or love, and waits for snow in the wind.
A silent green makes the clouds recognize strangers
in just a moment, as people exchange
in the same atmosphere.
A shade of blue, a strange red,
a hidden underworld on the mountaintop
—Oh listen—as a chasm closes,
and the faint yellow plants create an order
and hazelnuts fall, and tourists line up,
swaying, on this dangerous afternoon,
as if pleading with the sky to bring only rain.
The hibiscuses, closed, are also singing. A mirror listens.

在平昌
影子也在倾听。目光不多。
我们旅行，道路迟疑，
可以望见海，于是就有了
鲸鱼的踪迹。只需要听着，
昼影成双，在治愈。
那唯一的绝对，那嫉恨，
那爱，都比不过山坡上的草
在冷风中等待雪。
静默的绿色，只用了片刻，
就让云朵认出了陌生人，
人们交换着同一种空气。
那蓝，那奇异的红，
那隐匿的幽冥，在山顶，
听吧，一条深渊在收缩，
昏黄的植物产生了秩序，
榛子坠落，游人站成了一排，
摇曳，在危险的午后，
仿佛恳求着天空只降下雨水。
暮槿也歌唱，镜子在倾听。