April rain, apricot petals on my tongue,

your name drips through the cracked hourglass—

I catch it with both hands, but it still leaks.

We bloom sideways in the metro mirror,

two strangers wearing the same yesterday.

The tannoy says the line is delayed;

I rewrite the map with the ink of your blink.

April ends, yet the station loops your echo—

a petal station, a ghost train of maybe.

雪落無聲 晝色輕眠

呼吸在霧中緩緩暈開一圈又一圈

光如舊信 折成紙鳶

懸在未央的穹頂 替我守口如瓶

我聽見 時間逆流成河

把未說的話 擦亮又沉沒

若此刻 能凝成琥珀

讓心跳封存 不再問因果

幻晝之上 影子成雙

你眼里的遠(yuǎn)方 是我回不去的故鄉(xiāng)