图片发自简书App
Flying at Night
by Ted Kooser
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
夜航
泰德·库瑟/作 躲雨/译
头顶，星群。脚下，星座。
五十亿英里之远， 星系死去
像雪落于水。 我们下面，
某个农场主，感到那遥远的死亡之寒
啪地一声， 他打开院里的灯
将棚屋和谷仓纳入自己所及
城市彻夜恍如明灭的新星
用炜煌的街区同他的孤灯拔河
译后记：
事物在库瑟的句中总像因时光而失焦的照片，辽远，宁静、闪烁，在身体里。
