。謝謝你們給我餞行。
。忙著收拾東西，辦公室混亂不堪，紙皮箱囤積著，紙張散滿一地。
。那種亂的感覺，在離開我好幾個月後，再跑回來。亂事的根源，誰能說得準。在偌大的原野，我無法測量風流動的速度和方向，像車廂中握著扶手的那個力度，我們避免跌倒，把掌紋刻進手握內，一百年後與列車一同墮落，一切如常。荒誕得很。
。我本來想順著風勢而走，我以為這是自然不過的，我甚至以為，這是毫不費勁的。我看到風箏在天空裡飛，藍色的帆布下，是否也站著你？風箏是你放的嗎？你手裡沒有線。把視點留在天空中，我以為，我可以踏遍草原，翻開兩旁的風光明媚，像追風箏的孩子，忘掉一切的陷阱與殺戮。
。或許，把自己化為風箏，風怎樣吹，就怎樣翻。忘掉屬於人性的一切知覺，不疼了，也不愛了；不想想了，也不想刻意的叫自己不想了，像學習遺忘，甚至把遺忘徹底的忘卻掉，把一切當成是與生俱來的恩賜。
。我暗自感謝，兩旁的樹幹刻上了文字、藤蔓把人絆倒、夕陽垂下、薔薇在開，風景在後退，於是，我便失去了它們，於是，我忘掉我們曾經遇上了。
One Art
The art of losing isn’t hard to master,
so many things seem filles with intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accep the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
The pratice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
–Even losiny you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (*write* it!) like disater.
~~by Elizabeth Bishop
