你与我共同谈论起一场春雨，                                              
                                                              谈起被雨水沾湿翅膀的蝴蝶，  
                                                              谈起它飞不高的模样，
                                                              谈起它的身躯，就如同摇曳不定的烛火，
                                                              仿佛将要被大雨浇灭。
                                                            
                                                               可我怎么总觉得我同它这么像，
                                                               昏黄的灯光烫出我心灵的沉疴，
                                                               映出我脊背的蝴蝶翅膀。
                                                               恳求你，
                                                               让我做丛林里的鸟，
                                                               我心里的伤痕还未愈合，久久难消。
                                                               允许我，
                                                               让我越过春天的脉搏，
                                                               同一汪江水那样浩浩荡荡。
                                                               原谅我，
                                                               我不甘当春日里孱弱的蝶，
                                                               我会生出羽翼，
                                                               在冬日来临前迁徙，
                                                               独守被春天淹没了的山水，
                                                               在一棵树上，
                                                               扎根做一只不死鸟。
                                                                  
                                                               自此，我的眼里再也容不下河水，
                                                               容不得眼眶里，常常犹如海水涨潮。
                                                               所以，我要吻一吻这一场春雨，
                                                               即使打湿我的翅膀，也无妨。
                                                                    
                                                               然而，时至今日，
                                                               我也常常渴求，
                                                               夏天，可否再慢一点，
                                                               别让燥热蒸干了春天的静脉血，
                                                               蒸干了它落湿的一片彷徨。