In January

By Ted Kooser

Only one cell in the frozen hive of night
is lit, or so it seems to us:
this Vietnamese café, with its oily light,
its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.
Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.
Beyond the glass, the wintry city
creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.
A great wind rushes under all of us.
The bigger the window, the more it trembles.


一月

仅有一个巢室在冰冻的夜间蜂房
点亮，也许对我而言是这样：
越南酒吧，油光闪闪
气味的颜色形似雪花
说说笑笑，敲击筷子
玻璃外面，冬日城市
嘎吱作响，如一座古老的木桥
大风从我们下面刮过
窗户越大，颤动越大

首赏~

越南酒吧，油光闪闪
气味的颜色形似雪花

———— 额。。。要不要再看看呢~