在雨停的那个晚上
                          他梦见了他白色的墓碑
                          也梦见了在高空飞翔的
                          鸟的苍白而柔软的翅膀
                                    他都忘了
                             是何时蓄起的长发
                      现在托付于一把生锈的剪刀
                           镜子里的人胡渣满脸
                                 擦亮了皮靴
                            再擦不亮的是眼睛

                            他打算在深夜离开
                                顺着一条河走
                 也许能找到通往另一种生活的桥梁
                        也可能是漫长岁月的尽头
                                  他没有行李
                             只有一颗挣扎着
                           从泥土里钻出来的心
                     没有人留得住他，他说他是风