If you forget me, by Pablo Neruda. I want you to know one thing. You know how this is. If I look at the crystal（结晶） moon at the red branch（树枝） of the slow autumn at my window. If I touch, near the fire, the impalpable ash（灰） or the wrinkled body of the log（航行日志）. Everything carries me to you.

  As if everything that exists, aromas, blight（枯萎病）, metals, or little boats that sail towards those aisles of yours that wait for me.