不邀而至的晨光，
令人厌烦地扰醒了醉卧街角的我。
又一个难忘的夜。
夜总是将世界化为汹涌的波涛，
深深的蓝中带着沃土的黑色。
其中充满着令人无限向往的不可思义。
夜唤醒了曾被深藏欲望，若存若离，半推半就。
夜的开启，只是一些破碎和零乱 -
跟不十分令人愉快的友人的闲聊，
半梦半真的音乐，混合着余留的烟味儿。
我深知这一切是多么毫无相干。
正在这时，夜的浪涌载你而至，
伴随的是你言语的声音，笑声，
和你那虽似慵懒却令人窒息的美丽。
我们在街上漫步，
开始还在交谈，再后来是的你的无语。
晨光打碎了夜的世界，
扰醒了醉卧街角的我。
我只记得你离去的身影，你柔美无二的声音，
和你笑时的模样。
我醒后努力回味着你留给下的这一切。
被晨光模糊了的记忆，我又庆幸地找回了。
可此时，我能与之分享的只有淡去的星光和街上的流浪狗。
除了记忆，仅存的是你转身离去时留下的神密。
我的心中只充满着一个欲望 -
再次遇到你，认识那真实的你。
by Jorge Luis Borges
To Beatriz Webster de Bullrich
I.
The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived
the night.
Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all
hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable.
Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half
given away, half withheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere.
Nights act that way, I tell you.
The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends:
some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the
smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no
use for.
The big wave brought you.
Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly
beautiful. We talked and you have forgotten the words.
The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street of my city.
Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to make your name,
the lilt of your laughter: these are illustrious toys you have
left me.
I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find them; I tell them
to the few stray dogs and to the few stray stars of the dawn.
Your dark rich life…
I must get at you, somehow: I put away those illustrious toys you
have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile
—that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows.