逃离者只能以梦为马穿云破月回乡了,今夜。策马而上,煤油灯燃着如豆的灯火,少年的我正躺在谷仓上秉灯夜读。夜风是一只只前仆后继的扑火飞蛾,三番五次将灯火熄灭。短暂的昏冥过后,破碎的瓦片缝口洒落一束束如霜的月光,清冷、雪白。瓦缝之上,尽管只有星星几枚,仿佛乡野灯窗零落,但天空依然灼灼。 Escape can only be a dream to wear cloud broken moon home, tonight. Coincidently, kerosene lamp lights lit beans, juvenile I was lying on the barn Bingzhu night. The night wind is a fought fire moth, one after another, extinguished the lights. After a brief dusk, broken tile seam sprinkled beam of frosty moonlight, cool, white. Tile on the seam, although only a few stars, as if the countryside lantern scattered, but the sky is still burning.