somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
有個地方我從未去過，在經驗之外
有個地方我從未去過，在經驗之外
愉快地存在，你的眼睛有種沉默：
你最纖巧的姿態裏有東西能緊裹我
也有東西太靠近我使我無法觸摸
哪怕我把自己關緊象捏攏手指
你最輕微的目光也很容易打開我，
一瓣兒一瓣兒開，就象春天打開
（巧妙、神祕地觸摸着）第一朵玫瑰
或者你的願望是把我關起，我和
我的生命會閉上，優美地，突然地，
似乎這朵花的心裏正在想象
漫天白雪處處飄下，小心翼翼；
這世界上我們理解的東西沒一件
能與你緊繃的纖巧相比：那種質地
用它本鄉的顏色逼迫着我而且
給我死亡，永遠地，隨着每次呼吸
（我不知道你有什麼本領能開
又能關；我心中卻有東西卻能夠
理解你眼睛的聲音深於任何玫瑰）
沒人，哪怕雨也沒有如此小巧的手