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In Rainy September, when leaves grow down to the dark,
I put my forehead down to the damp, seaweed-smelling sand.
The time has come. I have put off choosing for years,
perhaps whole lives. The fern has no choice but to live;
for this crime it receives earth, water, and night.

We close the door. “I have no claim on you.”
Dusk comes. “The love I have had with you is enough.”
We know we could live apart from one another.
The sheldrake floats apart from the flock.
The oaktree puts out leaves alone on the lonely hillside.

Men and women before us have accomplished this.
I would see you, and you me, once a year.
We would be two kernels, and not be planted.
We stay in the room, door closed, lights out.
I weep with you without shame and without honor.

多雨的九月多雨的九月,树叶越长越瘦,日渐灰暗,
我将前额俯伏在潮湿的沙滩,海藻腥涩。
时机已经到来。我已将选择迁延多年,
或许已是几生几世。除了活着,蕨菜没有选择;
因为这一缺憾,它承接着水、土以及黑夜。

我们关上门。“我对你一无所求”。
黄昏来临。“能享有你的爱,这已足够”。
我们知道我们可以天各一方。
毕竟,秋沙鸭会离群孤飞。
橡树在孤山脚下径自将叶子铺展。

在我们之前,男男女女都能做到这一点。
我会去见你,你也能来看我,一年一次。
我们将是两颗脱壳的谷粒,不是为了播种。
我们蛰伏在房间里,门关闭着,灯熄灭了。
我陪你一同抽泣,没有羞耻,顾不得尊严。

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