不成诗

在小说刚开始的时候，这首诗被引用过。当它再次被提到的时候，我遇到它如同遇到一个全新的单词。在搜索引擎为我提供的网页中，它呈现出这样的排版：

Midsummer :: william bronk

A green world, a scene of green, deep

with light blues, the greens made deep

by those blues. One thinks how

in certain pictures, envied landscapes are seen

(through a window, maybe) far behind the serene

sitter’s face, the serene pose, as though

in some impossible mirror, face to back,

human serenity gazed at a green world

which gazed at this face.

And see now,

here is that place, those greens

are here, deep with those blues. The air

we breathe us freshly sweet, and warm, as though

with berries. We are here. We are here.

Set this down too, as much

as if an atrocity had happened and been seen.

The earth is beautiful beyond all change.

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于是，我再度阅读这首诗如同遇到一个面目熟悉的单词。我回忆起，或者想象了，我上一次读到它是在星期一通勤的地铁上，一列带着我来到了如今坐着、并且打开了搜索引擎的地方的地铁。一个炎热的星期一早上，和一个人们开始穿上外套的午后。在地铁站，一只同时悬挂在天花板和地下的圆形时钟，一只同时被抬头仰望和踩在脚底的圆形时钟。车厢里坐在我旁边的人让我感到亲切，仅仅因为它所穿的衬衫的布料。在某天的通勤路上，我曾看到那些人减去行道树的树枝，它们躺在街上像

流淌着绿色的

伤口

在被玻璃和大理石

反射过的晨光下

使城市显得如同

一场被拉长了 静悄悄的屠杀

在地上

闪烁不定的绿色

在天上

打伞遮住的蓝色

我们走向地下

打开了

仲夏的诗

互相背过脸去

等待无可能的 绿色世界