Winter '25 Issue｜2025冬季刊

Cities Without Altars

by Craig Fredrickson

I. Maintenance Gospel

Corridor. No clocks, no locks.

Bleach ghosts the air.

Fluorescents breathe, then falter.

He wrings the mop, reflex mistaken for prayer,

water black, then slack, then clear.

The floor reflects what heaven it can.

No witness.

Only the wheels’ slow litany.

He hums a tune with no address

and moves on, shining absence.

II. Security Check

Belts slide. Plastic trays.

The hum of light reading bone.

Nothing forbidden, everything revealed.

A flare, bracelet, cross, coincidence.

A pause. Procedure continues.

No alarm, only the whirr of consent.

Outside, the city resumes its weather.

The crowd reforms its silence.

One hand finds its way to the fourth rib,

as if confirming a secret.

III. Underground Hymn

Under girders, a song.

Unlicensed. Rain counts the change in her bucket.

Each note trespasses the air.

A passerby joins, two breaths threading one key.

Trains pass like unanswered prayers.

Someone drops a coin; she keeps singing.

Cameras record what they cannot report.

The melody folds into traffic…

Craig Fredrickson works in manufacturing.

没有祭坛的城市

翻译：诗验室

（一）保养福音

走廊。无钟，无锁。

漂白水的气息游荡在空气中。

荧光灯呼吸，然后颤动。

他拧着拖把，反射动作被误作祷告，

水是黑的，然后淡开，然后透明。

地板尽力反射着天堂般的无暇。

没有目击者。

只有轮子缓慢的连祷。

他哼着一支小曲不为谁

然后向前移动，发着缺席的光。

（二）安检

传送带滑着。塑料托盘。

光打量骨头时发出的低吟。

没有禁物，一切一目了然。

一个闪光信号、手链、十字架、巧合。

一个暂停。程序照常进行。

没有警报，只有嗡嗡响的同意。

外面，天气一如既往地光顾城市。

人群改变着它的沉默。

一只手摸到第四根肋骨，

仿佛证实一个秘密。

（三）地下赞歌

桁架下方，一支歌。

未获许可的。雨数着她桶里的零钱。

每个音符都在侵入空气。

一个路人加入，两口气串着一个调。

火车如未有回应的祈祷驶过。

有人掉了一枚硬币；她依旧歌唱。

摄像头记录着它们无法汇报的。

旋律卷入车流……

Craig Fredrickson 从事制造业。

---

欲望的礼拜

作者：阿勒

秋天在掌心裂开。

果核溢出，时间的血

被饮尽。

死亡像光，

在镜面上扩散、失序。

礼拜是坟墓的回声。

梦，是欲望深处的腐烂。

只有破裂的口唇

才能呼出真理。

而颤动的夜，将我们引向

同一处敞开。

黑暗中互换的词：

呼吸，喑哑，心火。

我们相燃，

如花瓣在梦中自焚，

在彼此的伤口里翻涌，

如海，被出血的月

拖拽。

窗边的拥抱是刑罚。

街上的目光是证言。

他们凝视 ——

仿佛见到伤口开花，

仿佛见到心脏

在骨笼中爆裂。

此刻。

你的唇裂开死亡，

时间将我们的名字

刻进夜的空无。

阿勒，现居哈萨克斯坦。

worship of desire

translated by PLS

autumn cracks open in the palm.

kernels slipped out, the blood of time

gulped clean.

death as light,

sprawling and disordering in the mirror.

the worshipping is an echo of the grave.

dreaming, the decay at the heart of desire.

truth can only be revealed

through broken lips.

and the tremble of night, is now leading us

to the same opening.

words that are exchanged in the dark:

breaths, gloom, inner fire.

we enflame each other,

like petals self-immolated in dreams,

churning in each other’s wounds,

like the sea, hauled by the

bleeding moon.

the hugs by the window are our punishment,

the glances from the street the testimony.

they stare——

as if watching the wounds bloom,

as if watching hearts explode

in the cage of bones.

and it is now,

that death crawls out of your lips,

and time engraves our names

into the hollow of night.

Alkar Sarsenbek currently lives in Kazakstan.

---

Hymn (4)

by E. R. Skulmoski

November—the crows are uttering murder 

Ballads, caught in the pharynx of barren trees,

While seething in their starved bodies.

Now the landscape is bereft 

Of your holy breath. 

Where there was once wind, is now a silence of ellipses.

The remaining yellow leaves shudder for a breeze, 

Unwilling to do the departing on their own;

To unclasp their fingers and let go   

And dive into the archive of memory 

Where they were once happy, 

Lapping the light of your countenance.

E. R. Skulmoski lives in the Interior of British Columbia. Her work has been published in Ekstasis, Barely South Review, and Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, among other publications.

赞歌（四）

翻译：诗验室

十一月 —— 乌鸦啼着谋杀

民谣卡在一群秃树的咽中，

在它们饥饿的躯体内沸腾。

现在，风景已痛失

你圣洁的吐息。

那曾经有风的地方，现已是椭圆的沉默。

剩余的枯叶因一阵风而发抖，

不愿独自离去；

要松开手指并放手

然后潜入记忆的档案

那里他们曾经幸福过，

轻拍着你面容的光。

E. R. Skulmoski 住在不列颠哥伦比亚省，其作品曾发表于《Ekstasis》《Barely South Review》及《声韵诗刊》等处。

---

在阁楼上

作者：张宏羽

我曾经给迪普西克递交过一封密信

（你们永远不会透知我的立场。）

吸顶灯弥散的会议室。论坛此类议题

总能点开，几双一度折叠着的眸子

追着我问（冒号）AI何去何从

答（冒号）简历上的标签

被拒绝在系统之外（风拒绝风涌入风。

梦都大街上游走着一只黑漆密码箱。）

答（冒号）水位退下。代码捧出

骨关节错行的字句（我们当然尝试过

给皮皮念匹诺曹的长鼻子寓言。）

答（冒号）某某某被换脸

政客。网红医生。遥远的她。

——直到某个术语，卡在

喉咙深处。老母亲的咿咿呀呀，扑面而来

七十一岁。脑卒中。卡在

马桶与洗衣机的夹缝间

没有说出口的（冒号）床单的白

阿司匹林的白。花的白。墓碑旁鸟粪的白

是否有一根（纳米乘纳米的）线——

（迪普西克回信

提及智能脑机系统。）——能少点痛苦地

穿进那天拽着我衣角的手

——绕到那一团含混的背后

张宏羽，曾出版诗集《少时餐桌》。

in the attic

translated by PLS

i once sent a confidential letter to DeepSeek

(you will never grasp my stance.)

a meeting room permeated with ceiling light. on online forums these kinds of topics

are always available to be clicked, a few pairs of once folded eyelids

grilling me about (colon) the future of AI

the answer is (colon) the tags on your CV

are rejected outside the system (wind rejects the idea of wind infiltrating wind.

a black suitcase wanders across Mengdu Avenue.)

the answer is (colon) water level has receded. coding gives you

words and sentences with the wrong joints (of course we’ve tried

reading the long nosed tale of Pinocchio to little Pi)

the answer is (colon) so and so’s face was replaced by

a politician. internet celebrity doctor. the far-away her.

—until a certain terminology, stuck

in the throat. the babbling of my old mother, comes in spates

seventy one years old. in the middle of a stroke. stuck

between the toilet and the washing machine

the unsaid (colon) the paleness of sheets

the paleness of aspirin. the paleness of flowers. the paleness of bird poo by the tombstone

is there a wire (nanometre by nanometre)—

(in DeepSeek’s response there

is an intelligent brain-computer system.)—that can weave through

the hand that was pulling my shirt that day without too much pain

—and comes out of the back of that cloud of blur.

Zhang Hongyu has published a collection of poems, Childhood Dining Table.

---

Paper Lanterns

by Craig Fredrickson

Night along the river. Diesel, salt.

Containers climb, mute, blind,

walls of numbers eclipsing the moon.

We wait outside the gate.

Paper rustles in our hands,

ink like dark water spelling names

the city has forgotten.

A child holds her lantern with both hands.

Someone coughs. Someone hums

a hymn without words.

A match flares, then another,

small breaths of light in thin paper walls.

Lanterns tremble, uncounted,

then lift past cranes, past steel windows.

No anthem. No shout.

Only this slow ascent.

The river keeps working,

engines, the northern barge.

A tugboat horn, low, unanswered.

A buoy bell counts, counts.

Reflections scatter and reform.

A face glimmers, then continues.

The water speaks without speaking.

The child beside me whispers a name

I’ve heard her whisper every night for months.

She lets go.

Her lantern climbs, carrying its name

past the lights we’re permitted.

Somewhere the river remembers.

Somewhere a voice,

close as breathing, certain as current,

says I know you.

Craig Fredrickson works in manufacturing.

纸灯笼

翻译：诗验室

河旁的夜。柴油，盐。

集装箱上升、无语、盲目，

一墙墙数字遮住月光。

我们在大门外等候。

纸在我们手里沙沙作响，

墨如暗水道出被城市

遗忘的名字。

一名孩童用双手捧住灯笼。

有人咳嗽。有人哼起了

一首没有词的赞歌。

一支火柴点燃，然后是另一支，

薄纸壁内火微弱的呼吸。

灯笼颤抖着，不计其数，

然后上升，越过吊车，越过钢玻璃。

没有神圣的音乐。没有呼喊。

只有这缓慢的升起。

河依旧流动，

引擎，北方的船。

一只拖船发出汽笛，低鸣，无人应答。

浮筒号钟记着，记着。

倒影散开并重新成形。

一张脸发着微光，然后继续。

水述说而不语。

我身旁的孩童小声说出一个名字

几个月以来我每晚都听见她低语。

她放开手。

她的灯笼上升，带着它的名字

经过我们被允许的灯。

某处河流记住。

某处有个声音，

呼吸般亲密，水流般坚定，

说我认识你。

Craig Fredrickson 从事制造业。

---

在我骨上歇息

作者：阿勒

我把肋骨一根根摆正，像为你

铺一条通往清晨的阶梯。请在我骨上歇息，

不要以火降临 —— 请以光降临；

不要以锋利降临 —— 请以沉默降临。

你知道夜怎样把我们抬高：

像把一碗盐举起，让饥渴的影子

俯身吞尽。请在我骨上歇息，

让我听见，血里的，那温柔的鼓。

我不求胜，我只求被置于

你已到达与尚未到达之间 ——

那里的风，如未被呼出的名字，

在你的沉默中慢慢成形。

请在我骨上歇息。

若终将坠落，请你先落，

我随后；如落叶随风，

如祈祷随喉。

请在我骨上歇息：我愿为你而空。

阿勒，现居哈萨克斯坦。

rest on my bones

translated by PLS

i arrange the ribs one by one, as if building

a staircase to the morning for you. please rest on my bones,

don’t descend as fire, but light,

nor as blade, but silence.

you know how the night raises us:

as if lifting a bowl of salt, to let the hungry shadow

stoop and eat it up. please rest on my bones,

and let me hear the tender drum in the blood.

i yearn not to win, but to be placed

between what you’ve reached and what you haven’t——

the wind over there, like the names yet to be called

taking shape slowly in your silence.

please rest on my bones.

if there has to be a fall eventually, please fall first,

and i’ll follow; like the leaves that follow the wind,

like the prayers that tread the throat.

please rest on my bones: i will remain hollow for you.

Alkar Sarsenbek currently lives in Kazakstan.

---

Decay

by Shiyu Zheng

In this season of relentless rain

that stitches the sky to the ground,

people open their palms in waiting,

pray for the mercy of mosquitoes

while droplets pool at their feet.

Here, the river turns,

a restless sleeper on her side.

A wagtail shivers between the rocks,

its spindly legs holding up

what the city refuses to:

soft mud puckered like bitten lips,

air thick with the salt of unwashed skin,

the slow suck of silt asking,

How far can a body sink

before forgetting its way back?

Part of this land lies so low

it should have been swallowed by sea.

Part of this life is so still

it should have been carried by sleep.

Skeletal fish trace silent orbits.

The levees lower their guards.

Crabs tick beneath cracked asphalt,

counting hours until the tide returns.

The marshlands rot and dream of drowning.

A night heron perches on the railing,

beak clicking, red eye unmoored. Listen,

I am also balancing

on the edge of what used to be water,

ankles slick with the ghosts of barnacles,

tiny teeth digging dark rings.

The river knows my ancestors by name,

its mouth brined with their bones.

When its water climbs my thighs,

it will wrap around me like arms

until it reaches my ribs,

and wears my skin like a tattered dress,

until it claims my collarbones,

and plants reeds in the hollows,

until it rises to its feet and

braids itself into my hair like a mother

who forgets that she is mourning.

Shiyu is from Shanghai.

腐

翻译：诗验室

这个季节连绵的阴雨

将天地缝至一处，

人们在等待中张开手掌，

向蚊子乞求饶命

雨却在脚底漫成水洼。

这里，河流返回，

河旁躺着一位失眠者。

一只鹡鸰在石缝中颤抖，

它纤细的脚撑起

这座城市不愿撑起的：

软泥如咬紧的双唇般起皱，

空气中弥漫着未洗肌肤之咸，

淤泥以缓慢的吮吸问道：

一个躯体在忘记

回路前得以下沉多久？

这个地方有几处低得

早该被大海吞没。

这个人生有几时静得

早该被睡眠托住。

瘦鱼们循着安静的轨迹。

河堤们则放松警惕。

蟹在裂开的沥青下活动，

数着涨潮前的时间。

湿地腐烂，梦想着被淹没。

一只夜鹭栖于栏杆上，

鸟喙嘎嘎作响，红色眼珠来回游动。听 ——

我也在曾经是水的

地方边缘试图寻找平衡，

脚踝因藤壶之魂而变得光滑，

细小的牙齿寻找着暗环。

河流知道我祖先的名字，

它的口被他们的骨头浸泡。

当河水漫至我的大腿时，

它会像双臂一样抱紧我

直至抵达我的肋骨，

并将我的肌肤像褴褛的裙子般穿上，

直至它占领我的锁骨，

并在空无中种下芦苇，

直至它起身并

将自己编入我的头发如一位

忘记自己尚在哀悼的母亲。

Shiyu 来自上海。

*cover photography 封面摄影 © yuan