It rains at night like mice.
Raindrops like chaff on the windowsill,
transparent toenails and fishscales on the glass—
have you been here before? You’d never come in.
I was asleep. I’d been reading a
Walcott poem about returning
to D’Ennery and being “imprisoned in these wires of rain.”
(Is D’Ennery an island too?)
Oh my Ariadne!
I didn’t see the wires of rain in your hands,
the raindrops imprisoned in wires of rain. Now
the only clouds left are, like other islands
or fish, imprisoned in a deeper sky.

A flock of pigeons escapes the building opposite,
circling past the grey spear of a radar tower on the embankment
and back to this grass, revealing their soft white
bellies, the shredded grass on their tiny feet
staining all their joints. The eggs
they secrete at night are like raindrops magnified on blades of grass:
light green, unsparkling, non-reflective.
On the corner store’s corrugated iron roof,
the wind has drawn grey branches in freehand strokes.
A girl is cleaning the glass display case with a
feather duster, her fingers like whitened coral,
a drop of rain imprisoned in her eyebrows.
I want to go in and buy something: mineral water or cigarettes?
But I don’t smoke. Maybe my cat will.
It’s lying on the couch with its eyes closed,
like a pigeon that hasn’t done its eyebrows.

The road is slippery. Rainwater collecting in potholes
licks at my black laces, the salt sea wind flaps my collar.
The sun is like the warm coin in my pocket,
knocking against the security windows halfway up the east building.
The bauhinia tree leans on the corrugated iron eaves, smoking.
The scattered light she collects for me through the
dense foliage is free.
I suspect this bottle contains yesterday’s rainwater.
It’s sucked my teeth black
and cold, Haidian is my tongue.
A little car drives quietly up.
Is your wooden horse a Trojan horse?
I duck it and dart like a frog
across the Hainan ­Strait.

夜雨如鼠，
窗桁上半秕的水滴，
玻璃中透明的趾甲、鱼鳞——
你来过？从没进来过。
那时我在睡觉，之前读到
沃尔科特一句诗，说他
回登纳里，“被囚禁在雨丝中。”
（登纳里也是一座小岛吗？）
噢我的阿里阿德尼！
我没看见你手中的雨丝，是
雨滴被囚禁在雨丝中。现在
剩下的几朵云像另一些岛屿
或鱼，被囚禁在更深的天空。

对面楼飞出一群鸽子，
绕过防波堤上灰白的戟式雷达塔
回到这草地，露出柔软洁白的
小腹，细爪里的碎草浆
染着全身的关节。它们夜里
分泌的卵像草尖上放大的水滴：
浅绿，不闪光，也不反光。
旁边小卖部的波状洋铁皮顶上，
风写意般画下几截灰墨枝条。
一个小女孩用鸡毛掸在清洁
玻璃柜台，手指像变白的珊瑚，
一滴雨囚禁在眉毛里。
我想去那里买点什么，矿泉水或烟？
但我不抽烟。也许我的猫会。
它在沙发上闭着眼睛，
像鸽子没有画眉。

路面湿滑，积水的小坑洼
舔上黑色鞋帮，腥咸海风翻动衣领。
太阳像我兜里温热的硬币，
碰响东楼腰的防护窗。
紫荆树倚在铁皮檐口抽烟，
透过密密叶隙，她找给我的
零散的光线是免费的。
我怀疑这瓶水是昨夜的雨水，
我的牙齿被它吮吸得黝黑——
很凉，海甸岛是我的舌头。
一辆小汽车悄声驶来——
你的木马，是木牛流马？
我闪向一边，像只青蛙，
跳过了琼州海峡。

On the computer you gave me,
I’m typing a poem out for the first time.
It’s good, it’s nearly fun. Like being with you.

It’s been nearly a year since we saw each other.
This poem is for you. The rain stagnates for the fiber optic cables.
The foliage footprints on the stairway aren’t deceitful.

Another gust of wind erases the misspelt clouds
on the screen. Goodbye, black rain wrapped round the wheels,
the Empire Building turning away sadly; what is poetry

even for? I hope most poems for you
are exceptions. I’ve given up pen, ink, and paper. This noble cursor
will hold the leftover period 。in its mouth like a laurel wreath, as it
swims towards you. It’s the island. Soon it’ll rain from Haidian into your email.

我用你给我的电脑
第一次直接在电脑上写这首诗。
很好也很有趣，像与你在一起。

我们不见又快一年了，
这首诗献给你。雨给光纤送来积水。
楼梯上落叶的鞋印仿佛不是猫腻的。

又一阵风甚至删去屏幕上
拼错的乌云。再见，黑亮雨丝缠住车轮，
旁边的帝王大厦黯黯侧了侧身；诗又有

什么用呢？但愿献给你的通常都
是例外。舍却了墨水、纸张和笔，这清修光标
衔着花冠般的剩余句号游向你，是海甸岛；
待会这岛上的雨丝也跳进你的E-mail。