“我相信你的爱。”诗人站在林后,喃喃低语。《飞鸟集》,属于夏日的诗,在冬天读起来反而更能感到温暖。掠过采果园丁头顶的飞鸟,穿透黎明前朦胧的晨光,卷过云朵的边角的同时沾染了森林高处树梢上的凝露,划过天空不留痕迹。躲在树丛间的追求者,沉默的瞳孔里映射着淡薄的光,模糊而真实。 “I believe your love. ” Poet stood behind the forest, whispered murmur. “Flying birds set”, belongs to the summer poetry, read in the winter instead feel more warmth. Passing over the head of a gardener, the bird, penetrating the dim dawn before the dawn, swept over the corners of the clouds while contaminating the condensation on the treetops above the forest, tracing the sky without leaving any trace. Hiding in the bush between the seekers, the silent pupil reflects the light, fuzzy and real.