无感地翻下：
you are my bread
and the hairline noise
of my bones
you are almost
the sea
you are not stone
or molten sound
I think
you have no hands
this kind of bird flies backwards
and this love
breaks on a windowpane
where no light talks
this is not the time
for crossing tongues
(the sand here
never shifts)
I think
tomorrow
turned you with his toe
and you will
shine
and shine
unspent and underground
窗
你是我的面包
是我骨头中
发丝般的声音
你几乎
就是， 海
你不是石头
没有炽烈的声音
我想
你也没有手
这种鸟向后飞，
这种爱
能击穿
光明
无法逾越的窗棂
现在不是唇舌交接的时候
因为这里的沙不流动
我想
明天把你轻易地掠过，如同脚趾划过
而你却始终灿烂
灿烂，
永不消逝地在地下灿烂
