Double Shadows: Selected Poetry of Ouyang Jianghe

8. Key to Sunday

30 星期日的钥匙 钥匙在星期日早上的阳光中晃动。 深夜归来的人回不了自己的家。 钥匙进入锁孔的声音，不像敲门声 那么遥远，梦中的地址更为可靠。 当我横穿郊外公路，所有车灯 突然熄灭。在我头上的无限星空里 有人捏住了自行车的刹把。倾斜， 一秒钟的倾斜，我听到钥匙掉在地上。 许多年前的一串钥匙在阳光中晃动。 我拾起了它，但不知它后面的手 隐匿在何处？星期六之前的所有日子 都上了锁，我不知道该打开哪一把。 现在是星期日。所有房间 全部神秘地敞开。我扔掉钥匙。 走进任何一间房屋都用不着敲门。 世界如此拥挤，屋里却空无一人。 31 Key to Sunday A key glints in the Sunday morning light. A returning traveler is locked out in the dark. A knock on the door is always more faint than the rasp of metal in the keyhole. Only a dreamed address is reliable. As I bike down a quiet street all the headlights go out at once. In the night sky above, a hand clenches a brake. I hear a clink. A key has fallen to the ground. I see a ring of keys, keys of years past glinting in the light. I pick them up. But where are the hands that hide behind them? A row of closed days, ending in Saturday— but I do not know which to unlock. Now it is Sunday. All the doors on the street stand open. I toss the keys away. No need to knock. Just walk right in. Such a crowded world, and no one at home. ...