Listen to this articleButterfly Air
《蝴蝶风》
“The fluttering of ten thousand butterfly wings in the Southern Hemisphere causes a typhoon in the summer mid-day dream of a woman near the Tropic of Cancer, who was chased by love but betrayed love…” I found this sentence in the meteorology book with color illustrations lying on the dressing table in your room. Ah, the terrace of memory with metallic walls and glass floor, where I once entered but later lost the key and could not get in. With a navy blue eyebrow pencil you highlighted in the book: “The staple food of the butterflies is love poems, especially sad ones, ones that cannot be swallowed in one gulp and need to be chewed over and over…”
“南半球蝴蝶一万只翅膀的拍动，造成北回归线附近被爱追逐又背弃爱的女子，夏日午梦的台风……”这些句子，我在你房间梳妆台上一本有彩色插图的气象学书上读到，啊，有著金属墙壁，玻璃地板，我一度走进过而后丢失了钥匙，不得其门而入的记忆的楼阁。你用深蓝的眉笔在书上画下重点：“这些蝴蝶以情诗为主食，特别是哀伤的，无法一口下咽的，需要反覆咀嚼的……”
I mull over ways to reach you again: Dismember yesterday, hang it up and let it float outside your building like a spider? Or, on the wings of one butterfly stamp after another, deliver a parcel of longing and despair to your door? Your smooth, tightly closed metallic walls make every single crawling insect trying to climb up slip and fall off the building
我反覆思索重新到达你的途径：把昨日分尸吊起如一只蜘蛛飘浮在你住的高楼外？或者通过一张张蝴蝶邮票的飞行把渴望和绝望的包裹空投到你的门口？你光滑，紧闭的金属墙壁，让每一只试图攀附，接近你的我思想的爬虫失足，坠楼
So I wait for the fluttering of butterfly wings in the Southern Hemisphere to cause a typhoon in your summer mid-day dream, to allow the butterfly shadows secretly issued by sorrow to flap and strike the doors and windows of your heart, and let a question mark, a comma, in the incompletely digested poem stir up your memory like a tiny screw, pop the top of the old perfume bottle sitting on your nightstand, so that you can hear anew the chirping insects, barking dogs, singing clowns without a nose that we once heard together and are stored inside, so that you can smell anew the perspiration and scented mud that we once rolled on: at the bottom of a deep lake a summer night’s conversation that cannot be stopped.
我于是期待南半球蝴蝶翅膀的拍动，造成你夏日午梦的台风，让那些被哀伤秘密发行的蝶影拍打，撞击你心的门窗。让尚未被完全消化的诗中的一个问号，一个逗点，像小小的螺丝起子启动你的回忆，鬆开你床头那瓶旧香水瓶的瓶塞，让你重新听到储藏在里头我们一同听过的虫鸣，狗吠，掉了鼻子的小丑的歌唱，让你重新闻到储藏在里头我们一同滚出的汗味，泥香：深深的湖底无法被阻绝的夏夜的对话
Now our hearts are as far apart as the two poles of the globe, although my eyes, like a thumbtack, still fix on the longitude and latitude of where you are on the map. I can only write a poem, a sad poem, to make the butterflies in the Southern Hemisphere fight for food and make them flutter ten thousand wings so as to cause a typhoon in the summer mid-day dream of you, behind metallic walls in a tall building near the Tropic of Cancer.
如今我们的心已遥如两极，虽然我的眼睛始终如图钉钉视着地图上你所在的经纬度，我只能写一首诗，一首哀伤的诗，让南半球蝴蝶争食，让它们拍动一万只翅膀造成北回归线附近高楼金属墙壁后面的你，夏日午梦的台风
