Kashgar

old Uyghur sellers
of secondhand goods
hands in pockets, sitting in a row
black caps, white beards
like huge birds, perched before flight
the old city’s sky pierces like shards of ice
scattering chilly white light
the clanging of the coppersmith
the children playing
the pigeons lighting gusty on the eaves
short-tailed sheep bleating over their shoulders
all arrayed on the bazaar
according to some secret decree
Kashgar’s sky is a huge magnifying glass
This city, stirred by the sun and moon
continuously floats up
like the hot air expelled by these old people
like spirits condemned

喀什

喀什

牌楼下几个卖旧货的
维吾尔族老人
揣着手蹲坐成一排
黑帽白髯
像几只歇脚的大鸟
尚在隆冬
老城的天空通透如冰块
散射着白色的寒光
不远处的铜匠铺叮当作响
那些挥手嬉戏的小孩
从风中飞落到屋顶的鸽子
猛地回过头来咩叫的
短尾绵羊
都按着某种神秘的旨意
铺排在巴扎之上
喀什的天空是一个巨型放大镜
这座被太阳和月亮
共同搅拌的城市
一直在漂浮着上升
如那些老者呼出的热气
如必定受难的灵魂