精美英文小诗：My Psychic

yuci010

　　has a giant hand diagrammed in front of her place
　　on West Tennessee.
" t8 P. T* ]* c2 z+ Z　　It towers above a kudzu hill as if
　　to offer a cosmic How!
) E+ v. o+ P  a0 L" c4 x% R　　as in Hello! from a long
　　way off， as in how
2 ]! v  }9 S" ?+ X　　she already knows
& r% ]. d5 i/ W! g4 L　　the sundry screwed up ways a day
( H* z! o8 A* I: r& R1 ~! G; q　　can go days before
　　I park my wreck on the hill again beside
　　her white Mercedes.
　　O little slice of Lebanon!
　　O cedar scented
4 E* B0 t. q: z% g　　cards fanned like feathers
　　of a Byzantine peacock!
% `1 M0 Q* K8 c　　Tell me again how I might have been a fine lawyer，
$ Q6 Z  o3 l" G5 u' O) Y　　that I'll raise four kids in Tallahassee，
9 I/ T" v4 D1 P' w! P* r　　how I married-it's true-on my lunch break-Yez
　　she took you to lunch okay a zeven year lunch ha ha!
( k$ y3 I5 o7 }7 H. Q　　Incense. Mini-shrine.
　　A wagon train of chihuahuas snoozing by her slippers.
　　You have anxious about a furniture… I do.
0 @' D' H* u5 J　　But lately I've grown cold，
　　unconsoled by her extrasensory view.
　　I think no need to speak-across
　　the black tabletop， I don't want to know
: p. A& K. W: K　　if I'll find a bright city，
　　a room by the river，a love
　　I will recognize
  n. R9 }, S3 e8 X3 h1 x5 m" x　　by her dragonfly
* s$ h$ p4 x1 G( Z$ n# m, ^+ v　　tattoo. O narrative of ether!
6 x! r# J7 L, I8 e! E7 Q　　O non-refundable
　　life facts! say that what happens may not matter，
4 v3 M. [( ^0 V/ M4 u3 ?2 x　　or that it matters as any
, M0 Q- T6 X/ ^# @　　story does when two fresh lovers
　　embrace the old pact
　　(her bra on the chair，
　　his socks in the kitchen) that says
　　their love is level，
　　unfabled， new. Level with me，
" Y5 [/ c7 \0 x8 z' o" s* a　　tell me why the dogs on the floor，
　　little moon fed hounds of Delphi， seem so over it，
　　so done with the fleas of destiny.
　　Maybe that's the right attitude，
　　no need to ask why I'm here on a perfectly blue Friday，
' n1 a# \( B% x6 E8 ?! o" _9 R　　content with what the thin air，
4 M9 V0 V4 Z' }, n; @$ H  ^　　what the dust motes in the light say near the high window.
　　I should've learned that music long ago
　　O soundless number!
　　O jukebox of being that the dogs dream to!
* d# I' L& C9 E7 F4 Q3 W* U2 s; {　　No faux crystal ball，
　　no tea leaves or terrace in the nether
　　reaches of my palm
　　will make her answers
　　less like hocus pocus in a purchased dark.
　　It's time to pay， to drive away
　　from telepathic altitudes， to say adieu
2 O/ f" [8 o9 s% T9 p  u( |, g/ _　　to why love ends. How
) V" c: |) \4 J* z% X5 X　　How a heart opens again.
　　Why anything is true.
' F6 N! g) u6 c3 L1 _- U4 `