我想起了，那条鬼，

遥远了，沉默了，没有了回音。

我在山肩上等，

等夕阳都上了，露水也干了，

空气也模糊却等不来牠。

行走着，欣跳着，摇晃着脑浆的人，

看不见魂。

日落以后，再回见，

那山的哪头，又冒出了脸。

伸出手，要招牠来；又一遍，被沉默湮灭。

像瞎了眼。

却找到了等到了见到了；

我找到了等到了见到了；

牠找到了等到了见到了。

我的腰间，牠停靠了久一点。

毛孔冷却，怀念起了第一天。

从那以后，想念的脚步失去了秩形。

向后一倒，

鬼和雨天。

I now recall that ghost,

Distanced, silenced, unrequited. 

Now I wait, unfruitfully, at a wide hillside,

Until the sunset comes up,

The dew dries on the weeds,

And the pale air finds its opacity. 

Walking, bouncing, 

how people see that ghosty soul

when shaking their fluidic brains.

And the sun is set. 

So I turn my head back, at the foot of the hill. 

Wherever it floats from, I see that face. 

I put my hands up, to beckon it here. 

Once again, devoured 

by that silent piece. 

I have become blind again.

Finding, Getting, Seeing.

Ghost’s finding, getting, seeing. 

My finding, getting, seeing. 

I now feel it 

around my waist. 

This time, 

it stays a bit longer 

there. 

My skin and pores are getting cold, 

and I am missing that first day. 

Thence, my footprints have lost their ordered shape. 

I lie back, whoof,

The ghost and another rainy day.