那年冬天
 
  一把把冷颼颼的刀子
 一夜便割乾淨一切
 城市蒙上白布
 
 露宿的
 僵硬的樹，枝椏手腳冰涼
 
 逆風而行的人
 柔弱得像一條條草
 誰一聲低沉的咳嗽
 嚇得路旁的樓房一跳 
 
 
 THAT YEAR, WINTER
 
 
 blade on blade, chill-chilling knives
 in one night all's cut clean away downright
 city smothered in white cloth
 
 bedroomless
 stiffened trees, their branches ice-frigid limbs
 
 those wending their way against the wind are
 frail as blade on blade of grass
 someone's one-time whispered coughing
 makes the roadside high-rise start
 
 （2001）

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 在東莞遇見一小塊稻田
 
 
 廠房的腳趾縫
 矮腳稻
 拼命抱住最後一些土
 
 它的根錨
 疲憊地張著
 
 憤怒的手  想從泥水裏
 摳出鳥聲和蟲叫
 
 從一片亮汪汪的陽光裏
 我看見禾葉
 聳起的背脊
 
 一株株稻穗在拔節
 谷粒灌漿  在夏風中微微笑著
 跟我交談
 
 頓時我從喧囂浮躁的汪洋大海裏
 擰幹自己
 像一件白襯衣
 
 昨天我怎麼也沒想到
 在東莞我竟然遇見一小塊稻田
 青黃的稻穗
 一直晃在
 欣喜和悲痛的瞬間
 
 I CAME ACROSS A SMALL RICE
 FIELD IN DONGGUAN
 
 
 Between the toes of factories
 short-legged rice plants
 clutch at the last bit of dirt
 
 Their root-anchors
 uncurl tiredly
 
 Outraged hands     wanting to scratch
 birdsong and cricket call from the mud
 
 In a patch of gleaming sunlight
 I saw rice-plant leaves
 shrug like shrugged shoulders
 
 The spikes of rice grew quickly
 The grains were in milk     smiling in the summer breeze
 talking to me
 
 All of a sudden, emerging from the deafening, impulsive ocean
 I wrung myself dry
 like a white shirt
 
 Yesterday, I would never have guessed
 in Dongguan I could have come across a small field of rice
 The yellow-green spikes
 continued to sway
 through moments both happy and sad
 
 (Tr. by Simon Patton)