那些初放的玫瑰，把我带回理智。
一切暴怒，在房后长满水藻的池塘
被我放下水，像纸船一样。
起初苍白，进而桃粉，后来血红。
修剪它们，你可能很残忍。
可能很残忍，而我需要这种残忍。
顶着红尖尖的翠枝
这些绝不是茨冠。
既不预兆什么，也不暗示什么。
一旦给养，它们便会生出枝丫：
一个夏季能长两茬。
一茬有紫罗兰和果香，另一茬
燃起烈焰，草坪上一簇翻滚的唇瓣。
My first roses brought me to my senses.
All my furies, I launched them like paper boats
in the algaed pond behind my house.
First they were pale, then peach and blood red.
You could be merciless trimming them back.
You could be merciless and I needed that.
Emerald green with crimson tips,
these were no crowns of thorns.
They would not portend nor intimate.
But if you fed them they’d branch out:
two generations in a single summer.
One had a scent of fruit & violet, the other
blazed up, a flotilla of lips on the lawn.
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