立春,或正月初五的风好像从墓地突然睁开了眼睛一丝熏凉的风,从我僵硬的皮肤上滑过好像在揭开时间的盖头,揭开那些已发霉的细节;好像要把我从墓地刨出,把我所有的肋骨重新安放我不知道,这一阵风是不是从我生辰和八字上升起,是不是刚刚穿过我荒凉的手稿。它幽绿的蛇信就像一把软刀剥开我早已死去的记忆犁铧翻开土地,就像一只鸟周而复始,修剪春天 The beginning of spring, or the wind on the fifth day of the first month, seemed to have suddenly opened its eyes from the cemetery with a faint wind of wind that slipped from my stiff skin like a hijab, revealing moldy details; Bringing out of the graveyard and putting all my ribs back in place I do not know if this gust of wind was rising from my birthday and my horoscope, or not just past my desolate manuscript. Its secular snake letter is like a soft knife to peel the memory I have long died Plowshare open the land, like a bird cycle, trimming spring