今日的云絮格外轻，                                      
它先揉皱了夕照，又把蝉鸣，                     
织入渐渐淡去的街声。                                  
我数着街边路牌，                                          
任身后层层叠叠的楼影，                              
溶于愈深的暮蓝。
闭上眼，听见光正从睫毛上，                     
簌簌剥落——                                                    
如往事，碎成发烫的尘埃。                          
霓虹尚未苏醒，                                              
而天际，已漾开半盏，                                
葡萄酒般的淤痕。
这长街上浮着太多，                                      
还未曾签收的信笺。                                      
在窗棂的褶皱里，在低垂的檐角，                                             在一扇扇，渐次暗去的橱窗深处。                 
晚霞将它们洇成褪色的水痕，                      
终如邮戳烙进每双疲惫的眼。                      
而此刻的我，                                                  
正途经一串正在风化的地名。                       
如某个未寄出的门牌号，                               
被空中的微尘裹向暮色深处。                                          而风正从你消失的街角，                               
捎来半截未散去的余温。