作者：王丽霞
五月，被一重重的绿
塞进了熊熊的炉火
红色的马沿着天边驰骋
雨水渐少
月光背着一个个草木属性的我
沿着军峰的背脊，斜插入云
日子被搓成一粒粒钙片
被齑成真假难辨的三七粉
明镜似的天空，白鹭飞过头顶
我们捧着泥样的自己
在天边仰望，等待
多么向往开窑的那一刻
洁白的瓷身，仿佛最初的我们
未曾沾染人间的污浊
Horizon
May on the horizon,
Stuffed by layers of green into a roaring furnace.
A red horse gallops along the sky’s edge,
As rain grows scarce.
Moonlight carries me, rooted in grass and wood,
Up the spine of Junfeng, slanting into the clouds.
Days are rolled into pellets of calcium,
Ground into Sanqi powder, real and fake indistinguishable.
In the mirror-bright sky, egrets fly overhead.
We hold our clay-like selves,
Gazing upward from the horizon, waiting.
How we long for the moment the kiln opens—
The porcelain body, white and pure,
Like our original selves,
Untouched by the world’s stain.
