The snail¹ pushes through a green night,

for the grass is heavy with water and meets

over the bright path he makes,

where rain has darkened the earth's dark.

He moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring as he hunts.

I cannot tell what power is at work,

drenched² there with purpose, knowing nothing.

What is a snail's fury?

All I think is that if later

I parted the blades above the tunnel

and saw the thin trail of broken white across litter,

I would never have imagined the slow passion

to that deliberate progress.

蜗牛感怀

蜗牛用触角推进墨绿色的夜晚，

因为草叶上湿漉漉沾满水珠，

耷拉着交织在它推出的明亮小径，

雨在上面使大地的昏暗更加昏暗。

它在欲望之林中缓缓蠕动。

它捕食时，苍白的触角几乎不动。

我无法说出什么力量起作用，

在那里浸透于百思不解的思绪中。

蜗牛的愤懑何在?

我仅仅这样遐想：

即使稍后一些时候

我拨开蜗牛爬过的路上的叶片，

但见它留下的细细痕迹

粘着破碎的白色微粒，

穿过垃圾碎屑，

那我也难以想像伴随它从容前进的

徐迟缓慢的激情。