远山的信笺
武玉光
Letters from Distant Mountains
by Wu Yuguang
风经过窗棂时
总带着半片褪色的月光
像那年你叠好的淡绿
在抽屉深处 轻轻呼吸
When the wind slips through the window lattice
it always carries a faded fragment of moonlight
like that pale green you once folded
breathing softly in the drawer’s depth
我数过云的脚印
在无数个相似的黄昏
它们掠过山脊的弧度
多像你转身时 衣袂扬起的迟疑
I’ve counted the footprints of clouds
across countless identical dusks
they sweep over the mountain’s curve
like your hemline’s hesitation when you turned
不必说重逢
远山从不喊出名字
只是把雾 酿成清晨的露水
把星子 种成眺望的形状
Don’t speak of reunion
distant mountains never call out names
they only brew mist into morning dew
plant stars as shapes of longing
而那抹淡绿
早被岁月熨成半透明的影子
在每次心跳的间隙
轻轻 呼应着远山的回声
And that stroke of pale green
long pressed translucent by time
in the pause between heartbeats
gently echoes the distant mountains
Translated on July 22, 2025
2025年7月22日
