我试着推动沉默的笔
                   却发现笔尖再无半点诗意
                   窗边枯木上伫着的黑鸦
                   把一束夕阳装进眼睛
                   风将地上的枯叶卷起
                   试图将
                   散落在书桌上的
                   几片安静的赤红遮蔽
                   黑夜踩着轻风
                   徐徐靠近
                   鸦的眼里
                   没了世界的背影
                   我点着枯瘦的灯芯
                   静静聆听
                   鸦的阵阵悲鸣