晨祷

不可抵达的父啊，想当初
我们被逐出天堂时，你制造了
一个复制品，在一种意义上
是与天堂不同的地方：为了
给予教训而制造；其他
都相同——两面都美，美
没有不同——只除了
我们不知道那教训是什么。被独自留下，
我们让彼此精疲力竭。随后是
黑暗的年月；我们轮流
在花园里劳动，最初的泪水
涨满我们的眼睛，当大地
似雾蒙花，某种暗红，某种肉体的颜色——
我们从没有想到你
虽然我们正学着敬拜你。
我们仅仅知道那不是人类的本性：只爱
以爱相报者。
Unreachable father, when we were first
exiled from heaven, you made
a replica, a place in one sense
different from heaven, being
designed to teach a lesson: otherwise
the same—beauty on either side, beauty
without alternative— Except
we didn’t know what was the lesson. Left alone,
we exhausted each other. Years
of darkness followed; we took turns
working the garden, the first tears
filling our eyes as earth
misted with petals, some
dark red, some flesh colored—
We never thought of you
whom we were learning to worship.
We merely knew it wasn’t human nature to love
only what returns love.