Portarlington, Victoria
Shell on your palm
There is this uncertainty that comes but once,
not in storm, but in a stun -
Ten hours folded into the speed of light,
A winter’s day that felt just right.
We shared our food, out thoughts, our gaze,
In quiet moments, under the sky’s luminous blaze.
Our fingers spoke what lips forgot,
held in a warmth that the world had not.
By PS Ozone’s rusted frame,
We drew a map - no need for names,
On shifting sand, with routes not shown,
We traced a path to call our own.
The seagulls watched, cone shells lay thin,
We studied each - names unknown - small worlds within.
And I, among them on your palm.
Was I the shell you’d call your own?
Or just one more beneath your tread -
a passing thought that will be left unsaid?
这份不确定性只出现一次，
并非在暴风雨中，而是在一阵震惊中——
十个小时，如同光速般飞逝，
一个令人感觉恰到好处的冬日。
在静谧的时刻，在璀璨的天空下， 我们分享食物，分享思绪，相对凝视。我们的手指诉说着嘴唇遗忘的话语，
蕴藏着世间从未有过的温暖。
在PS Ozone锈蚀的框架旁，
我们绘制了一张地图——无需名称，
在流沙上，也没有路线，
我们绘出一条属于自己的前路。
海鸥旁观着，名字不详的锥壳薄薄地铺在你的掌上，我们仔细观看着每一只——里面都有着小小的世界。
而我——
我是那属于你的贝壳吗？
还是你脚下践踏的另一个——
只是个转瞬即逝、无法言说的念头？
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