遠(yuǎn)山的信箋
武玉光
Letters from Distant Mountains
by Wu Yuguang
風(fēng)經(jīng)過窗欞時(shí)
總帶著半片褪色的月光
像那年你疊好的淡綠
在抽屜深處 輕輕呼吸
When the wind slips through the window lattice
it always carries a faded fragment of moonlight
like that pale green you once folded
breathing softly in the drawer’s depth
我數(shù)過云的腳印
在無數(shù)個(gè)相似的黃昏
它們掠過山脊的弧度
多像你轉(zhuǎn)身時(shí) 衣袂揚(yáng)起的遲疑
I’ve counted the footprints of clouds
across countless identical dusks
they sweep over the mountain’s curve
like your hemline’s hesitation when you turned
不必說重逢
遠(yuǎn)山從不喊出名字
只是把霧 釀成清晨的露水
把星子 種成眺望的形狀
Don’t speak of reunion
distant mountains never call out names
they only brew mist into morning dew
plant stars as shapes of longing
而那抹淡綠
早被歲月熨成半透明的影子
在每次心跳的間隙
輕輕 呼應(yīng)著遠(yuǎn)山的回聲
And that stroke of pale green
long pressed translucent by time
in the pause between heartbeats
gently echoes the distant mountains
Translated on July 22, 2025
2025年7月22日
