The Book of Life

Laura Kasischke

Pale and naked without their bodies, the souls

examine the book

in which they hope to find

their names inscribed（题写，雕刻）.

Made of soap. Now. Made

of smoke. Now

made of dew

and hairlessness. And how

primitive, I realize, seeing them, it's been:

The body. Its

silly limbs transporting, through the world, our

windblownness. Our

cloud wherever it went.

Teeth, old-fashioned and enameled（上釉的）, so

easily chipped.

The nose, often

runny, sometimes broken.

Heavy eyelids. Ankle twisted. How

did we bear it as it bore us, all

stuttering and limping, clomping, hungry,

shaggy（蓬松的）, horny, and diseased. All

that meat -- grossly, morosely（愁眉苦脸地） -- weighted

around a soul:

A simple soul!

Exhausting coat!

Skipping along like hope.