我想在夢中找到它的字跡
可是醒來總還是遺忘
我敢肯定
在我的朋友中
沒有一個人曾這樣寫信給我
在一個神秘的地點
有人在等待我
但我不知道
這個人是誰？
我想透視一下它的影子
可是除了虛無什麼也沒有
我敢肯定
在我的朋友中
沒有一個人曾這樣跟隨我
SOMEONE UNSEEN
In a mysterious place
Someone is calling my name
But I do not know
Who it might be
I want to carry his voice with me
But it is unfamiliar to my ear
I can affirm
That among my friends
No one has called me this way
In a mysterious place
Someone writes my name
But I do not know
Who it might be
I try to construe his writing in dreams
But on waking I always forget it
I can definitely say
That among my friends
No one has written me such a letter
In a mysterious place
Someone is waiting for me
But I do not know
Who such a person might be
I wish to fix my gaze on his silhouette
But aside from emptiness there is nothing
I can definitely say
That among my friends
No one has followed me this way
守望畢摩[1]
——獻給彝人中的祭司
畢摩死的時候
母語像一條路被洪水切斷
所有的詞，在瞬間
變得蒼白無力，失去了本身的意義
曾經感動過我們的故事
被凝固成石頭，沉默不語
守望畢摩
就是守望一種文化
就是守望一個啟示
其實我們沒有選擇的餘地
因為時間已經證實
就在他漸漸消隱的午後
傳統似乎已經被割裂
史詩的音符變得冰涼