冷氣團下
肥皂味的香氣要飛得很輕 很輕
這樣著地 才不會碰傷
可是太冷了
你說
哈口氣讓手心飄起來 貪玩
直到肚子餓
緩緩降落
捲曲身體 摺成盒狀
一滴一滴 青苔色的 紅藤色的 桔梗色的
連同你臉上的
一同蒸發
Beneath the Cold Front
The scent of soap
must float lightly—
so lightly—
to land without breaking.
But it’s too cold,
you say,
breathing warmth into your palms,
playfully
until hunger comes.
Then, a slow descent.
The body curls,
folds into a box.
Drop by drop—
moss green,
crimson vine,
balloon flower blue—
each one,
even those on your face,
evaporates.
