Fog began the morning, 雾开始当天上午，

the sun ate through the gloom like a single hole punch in a piece of card. 通过像一块网卡单孔打孔黑暗太阳吃了。

No cartoon beams of light. 没有卡通梁的光。

Past the townhouse, 过去的联排别墅，

straight to central station, 直接到中心站，

the first time you were dropped off in your brother's car. 第一次是在你哥哥的车下车。

I don't think it's luck that we stayed in touch. 我不认为这是运气，我们保持着联系。

   

Pale pink petals touch the surface of the pool 淡粉色花瓣触摸池的表面

and the curves of the contours remind me of your absence. 和轮廓的曲线提醒你没有我。

My eyes are bleached. 我的眼睛被漂白。

Strip lighting sparking on and off, 条形照明火花和关闭，

blinking lashes suspended above. 上面悬挂闪烁的睫毛。

The cab driver barely resembles his photograph, 出租车司机几乎类似于他的照片，

beneath the plastic laminate and its curling edges. 下方的塑料层压板和卷曲的边缘。

I wonder how else the years have marked him. 我不知道怎么回事，这些年来已经标记了他。

This country, it goes on and on. 这个国家，它的推移而上。

   

Certainty comes, however fleeting. 肯定来了，但是转瞬即逝。

We spent one night in one room. 我们在一个房间里度过一晚。

Put one leg underneath the other. 把一条腿下的其他。

It'll fall asleep before you do. 它会睡着在此之前。

You loosen the band and your hair unfolds like flames. 你松开带你的头发展开像火焰。

You tie the ribbon to your wrist. 你绑丝带为你的手腕。

So we stand and stare at the morning rush hour 所以，我们冷眼旁观，在早高峰

in a balcony scene. 在阳台上的一幕。

   

We were there. 我们在那里的。

Where was the air? 哪里是空气？

We were there. 我们在那里的。

Where was the air? 哪里是空气？

   

At toll stations we tossed cents into a plastic catching funnel 在收费站，我们扔美分到塑料漏斗捕

that looks like an upturned hockey mask. 看起来像一个倒放的曲棍球面具。