《月光》

月亮掛在樓群上方，

光落下來，鋪在陽台、窗框、空調外機上，

白得發亮。

風從街口鑽進來，

先撞上燒烤攤的鐵架，火星抖了一下，

油滴在炭上炸開，

孜然味順着夜色往上飄，

整條街都慢慢熱起來。

外賣騎手貼着地面滑過去，

尾燈一閃一閃，

在夜路上拖出一小段紅光。

他沒抬頭，月亮也沒動，

各忙各的。

高樓一排排站着，

窗子亮起、熄掉、又亮起，

有人在裡面走動、停下、再走動，

也有人把一天的疲憊

慢慢放進房間的角落。

你抬頭看月亮，

它安靜地掛着。

雲從它前面走過去，

邊緣亮了一下，

又恢復原來的樣子。

街上的聲音一陣陣湧上來：

便利店門鈴的“叮咚”，

出租車剎車的輕響，

誰家電視裡斷斷續續的笑聲，

還有樓下那隻流浪貓踩到塑料袋的脆響。

夜越來越深，

風帶着一點涼意。

煙氣散了，又被新的火氣頂上來。

整座城市慢慢起伏，

呼吸落在你胸口。

月亮一直在，

不說話，也不偏向誰，

只是把光落下來，

照着每一個還沒睡的人。

Moonlight

The moon hangs above the crowded rooftops.

Its light spills down, spreading across balconies, window frames, and air-conditioning units—

a white so pure it almost glows.

A wind slips in from the mouth of the street,

first striking the iron frame of a barbecue stall. Sparks tremble.

Oil drips onto the coals and bursts into flame.

The scent of cumin rides the night upward,

and the whole street slowly warms.

A delivery rider glides low along the pavement,

his taillight flickering,

dragging a brief red streak across the dark road.

He doesn’t look up. The moon doesn’t move.

Each tends to its own business.

The high-rises stand in rows,

windows lighting up, going dark, lighting up again.

Inside, figures move, pause, move once more.

Others quietly set down the fatigue of the day

in the far corners of their rooms.

You lift your head to the moon.

It hangs there in silence.

A cloud drifts across its face;

the edge flares bright for a moment,

then settles back into its quiet shape.

Sounds rise from the street in waves:

the bright ding-dong of a convenience-store door,

the soft hiss of a taxi’s brakes,

fragments of laughter from someone’s television,

and below, the sharp crackle of a stray cat stepping on a plastic bag.

The night deepens.

The wind carries a touch of coolness.

Smoke drifts away, only to be pushed upward again by fresh flames.

The whole city breathes slowly,

its rhythm falling against your chest.

The moon remains—

never speaking, never choosing sides—

simply letting its light fall,

covering everyone still awake.