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There were different words of dust: one for the powered film of shading on a closed room’s windowsills, and one for the inch-thick layer of talcum and fibre under the bed.
but nothing to describe the vividness of rain-dark fur and flesh that shaped and gloved the body of a fox beside the road,
and nothing for the presence still to come, when wind and sunlight fretted at the bone, cutting towards the basics of the form: the knitted spine, the hunter’s steady grin.
方言 约翰·伯恩塞德
描写尘土有不同的词汇： 其一指灰尘 在关闭的房间的窗台上 构成的阴暗。
其二指床下堆积的 那一英寸厚的粉末 和纤维，
但没有词汇描写那种生动， 雨黑的毛皮和肉体， 它们构成了路边狐狸的身躯，
没有词汇描写未来的存在， 当风和阳光折磨筋骨， 刀锋切入躯体的构架： 收紧的脊椎，猎手从容的笑。
（张剑 译） |
