Wednesday Evening | Museum-Quality Art Print

No sight of the frail black cat today.
Tulips on the table—
a hollow ache, quietly blooming.
Rust-tinged bicycles glide through dusk,
each return laced with silent weight.
By the west wall’s crack,
a gecko slips alone
into the whispering thickets of wildgrass.
Lights flick on.
Sleep leans gently into a dream.
On the page, the final lines:
“Alien stars, not yet risen.
We, idle still, far from sleep.”
Laundry—nothing rarer
than this season’s daily wear.
The doorknob, still untouched.
Stains on the floor,
and outside the window—spring.
Tears fall, uncalled.
As if beneath damp, warm roots,
a spring cicada
breathes
its intricate feeling
into the earth.

今天，没有看见那只瘦弱的黑猫
桌上的郁金香
心中空落落的
下班的人骑着有些锈迹的自行车
在这个傍晚的悠闲中
饱含心事地回来
楼外西墙边缝隙中的壁虎
孑然一身遁入了窸窸窣窣的芒草深处
她开了灯，斜靠在梦乡
那页书的最后几行这样写道：
「异质地的星星，还有很久才会亮起
无所事事的我们，还有很久才会睡去」
洗衣筐里堆放着这个季节当中再常见不过的衣物
大门的把手到底还是没有擦拭干净
躺在有些污渍的地板上面
我看向窗外的春天
顿时泪流满面
好像体验到了
此刻处于温暖湿润的树根之底
那只春蝉的复杂心情