如果——
风驱不散肩头霜，
水融不开掌心冰，
酒温不透脉中凉，
人填不满眼底空。                                                                                                                                                            

此时若——
沉入冰点的沉默，
将血液煮沸成嘶吼，
或以脊梁对抗整条寒流——
这番追逐，终究是徒劳。                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

不如转身，走进日常的褶皱里——                                                                                                                                  
不妨与公园路人，闲话几句菜价的涨跌;
或沿铺满银杏的小径踱步，听碎金声响成清韵;
然后，去系紧风中摇晃的薄衣，整理晒过的棉絮；
再搅动砂锅中鼎沸的稠粥，白汽漫起，                                                                                                                                     温柔糊了窗玻······
待这散落细碎温，自四方涌如心里，
终悄悄融尽久积的冰。