写在2022年pandemic期间，那时我家乡海滩上搁浅了一头抹香鲸。诗是它被救之前写的，后来它被成功送进海里，我曾嘲笑自己这首诗是自作多情。但数日后，新闻说海上发现死去的鲸，很可能就是这一条。这兜转迟来的命运。

        诗稍微改了一下，但因为本来从想法到语言都很幼稚所以改不到哪里去……

岸

春天，一头抹香鲸在我的家乡着陆

“搁浅”——在这里，人们更习惯于这样称呼一艘

濒死的渔船，劈向亿万吨黄沙的休止符

（小概率事件！新闻如是定论）

沉重如闪电。

钉穿我年轻心脏的曾是逼仄镜头前，从秋水

掠向北溟，涨满巨大岑寂的翅羽

何其疲倦的错航，我研习：

生物，地理，历史，战争，

溯往所有族类——自以为的族类

分道扬镳的理由，而它永不必再习得

五千四百万年前，名为呼吸的母语

“潮水……晚上十一点来……”

慢性死亡预告在饭桌上重复播送。

斟满暖寒流与季风的头颅，你正在

将浪漫化的速朽选择性遗忘，下弦月尚未剪开

一扇明丽的海面；

白昼已经平等灭绝了梦

​ 写于2022年4月，后有修改

The English tranlation is as follows.

The wanderer

 

This spring, a humpback whale beaches in my hometown

“Stranded”—here, people are more accustomed to calling it so

A dying fishing boat, slashing towards the rest stop of billions of tons of yellow sand

(A low-probability event! The news concludes.)

Heavy as lightning.

What once pierced my youthful heart was the cramped lens, from autumn waters

Swooping towards the Northern Ocean, wings brimming with flux of vast desolation

 

How weary the opposite voyage course,

I studied, biology, geography, history, war, tracing back to all

Races - the self-proclaimed races

Reasons for parting ways, yet it never needed to learn again

five hundred and forty million years ago, a mother tongue named “breath”

 

“Tide… comes at eleven at night…”

Chronic death announcements replayed on the dinner table.

With the skull filled up with warm cold currents and monsoons, you are in the process of

Selective forgetting of romanticized rapid decay, the waxing crescent moon has not yet cut open

A splendid sea surface, daylight has already equally extinguished dreams

Last modified on 2023-10-15