我看见宁静穿过我的眼睛，穿过我的身体，穿过土壤里的亡魂和星空中的亡魂。亡魂栖在墨水瓶里，书的折页里，炉膛的灰烬里，蛾子的风灯里，窗子合页的锈斑里。 我心里猝然一痛，宁静就皱了，扯出许多波纹。 这种痛不能抚摸，它太大了，而且太深，它可能是荞荞在痛，也可能是，小禾在痛，可能是小苗，也可能是我的父亲......我想他们。我想他们此刻的境况，我想他们生前的境况，我所见的，我所不能见的。那些情景沉在水底，而水面已经平息了，我想穿过宁静，一片一片捞起它们。（I see peace through my eyes, through my body, and through souls in the soil and in the sky. The souls perch in the ink bottle, in the folding of the book, in the ashes of the hearth, in the lamp of moths, and in the rust spots of hinges. Suddenly a pain occurs in my heart, and the peace is wrinkled, stretching many ripples. This kind of pain can't be touched, because it is too huge and it is too deep. It could be the little buckwheat in pain, or might also be the little grain suffering, or otherwise the little seedling or even my father... I miss them. I miss their situation at the moment as well as that during their lifetime, both what I can see or I not see. These scenes sink to the bottom, while the water has subsided. I want to pass through the silence and salvage them piece by piece.）