名人诗歌|This Work

The cold orange hands of the salamanders still wrap¹

and unwrap the baby he dreams he was

then long before there was any human family.

Then their work was just beginning on the

damp^{2 stones and mosses4 too.}

He had to be as little strange as possible.

They were making the world working on him too.

He was warmer but less strange than a moss^{3 or a stone was，}

that saved him.

The moss worked on the stone too.

The stone worked on him like a mind

he had to grow up to talk to or

dream to but without turning strange.

The cold hands run over him.

They read the body he dreams of as a baby's to the stone.

Before there was any human family the work

that make him was this work just beginning.