WHITE CHERRY POEM

Ah, it’s been days, the bird trill, like this:
comb your raven hair fine under the white cherry tree —

These days it’s been ringing in the ear, mostly while looking up at the flowing clouds.
At first it came in dreams, some days ago.

You don’t understand what it means . . . and you can’t remember
just who addressed who in the blur of dream.

In this way life is ordinary, troublesome, sometimes sharp and deranging —
but why do the words appear?  Unforgettable, like a command?

Look, the cherries are sweet, it is December, not yet the bloom time.
You know: when stewardesses fly, they can’t let their bangs fall loose . . .

Who knew: in these words, a heart-breaking urgency!
The ear rings with them, mouth dry from speaking, so vehement it almost smokes?

白樱桃诗

白樱桃诗

嗯，好几天了，嘤鸣着的，是这个：
“白樱桃树下，把你乌黑的头发细细梳了！”

几天来，耳畔老响起这话，尤其仰望流云时。
起先，它出现在梦里，几天前。

你不解其含义……也记不起
糊涂的梦中，这话，究竟是谁对谁说的。

生活如此平凡，困境，时时让人抓狂！
但为何会出现这话？忘不了，仿佛一道命令？

瞧，樱桃甜蜜，此时腊月，未到它的花期。
你知道：空姐天上飞，是不能梳刘海的……

谁知道：这话里，有让人心碎的急促！
耳畔响起这话，竟口干舌燥，急得冒烟似的？