構築•不安的季節 Constructs• Disquieting Seasons
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　春
　　春。第一棵樹是我的手臂插在鬆軟的沙土中。東風慵懶。我的手臂生出裊娜的柳枝——稀疏、嫩黃的青色、沒有蔭翳。
我在等待我一生一次的見證，我在等待你的路過，我在等待你的倚靠——以目光或者肩膀，倚在我苔色的樹幹。
　　我看著柳絮如霜飄落在你的髮端，隱隱約約的幾點霧白，如你的呼吸帶著愛爾蘭的香馨。你，高挑得高傲，不願引起誤會，沒有在此久留。
　　我的等待還不成為風景——這兒只有我自我設定的孤獨和輕。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Spring
　　Springtime. The first tree is my left arm in the morning sand. Lethargic easterly wind. My arm grows twigs like waterfront willows -- a few yellowish indigo without shade. Not yet.
　　I am waiting for a once-in-a-life witness, i am waiting for your passing-by, and waiting i am for your leaning against this moss-colored trunk with your eyesight or your shoulder.
　　I can see the catkin drop into your hair like drops of fog, whitish, barely visible, like your breath with Irish scent. You, slender and aloof, do not stay here long, not wishing to be misunderstood.
　　My waiting can not construct a landscape. Here, I design my own solitude and lightness.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　夏
　　我叉開雙腿站在昨日的河床上。今晨水深及膝。一群小魚在兩腿周圍像圍繞著將要沉沒進漩渦的樹枝。水依然混濁。
　　一陣惶恐襲來，頓時天空低沉，雲如凝墨。我感到許多鰻魚在水面下如遊動的閃電陰險地向我兩腿之間衝來，我感到我的腿不斷被粘膜抽打與摩擦，冷濕、粘滑、帶著腥氣，我的皮膚開始生長青苔。
　　時間如一團面，被碾平、拉伸，然後慢慢地抽縮，面皮外表開始顯現斑駁的天花之痕。時間的小漏洞，猶如某個遙遠星球上的隕石坑。我將一掬細沙灑於其上，輕抹出酥脆的手感。嘆息。
　　你的身影正在岸上。你的徘徊披著猶疑的餘輝，你的猶疑升起孤獨的炊煙。我想向你描述溫馨的内涵，而你我卻分別佔據在它的外延兩端。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Summer
　　On the river of yesterday, I stand in the water, spraddle-footed. This morning has already drowned my knees. A shoal of small fish circle around my legs like water whirling around two twigs about to sink into a whirlpool. The water is muddy.
　　A fit of horror strikes me, and the sky suddenly lowers and the clouds become curds of ink. I can feel many eels dash toward my legs like mute thunderbolt cracking under water. I can feel slanting slashes of their tails on my legs, slimy cold, smelly wet, and my skin grow moss.
Time is a mass of dough. Rolled and flattened, stretched out and slowly contracting. The face of the dough is dotted with smallpox. The tiny holes of time look like the meteorite craters on some faraway planets. I sprinkle a handful of sand and spread out the crispy feel. I sign with resignation.
　　Your shade is afloat on the bank. Your lingering is wrapped with the golden afterglow, and solitary smoke rises from the chimneys of your hesitation.
　　I want to describe to you the connotation of coziness, only to find that you and I are standing at the two ends of its denotation.