The Book of Life 

Laura Kasischke

Pale and naked without their bodies, the souls 

 examine the book 

 in which they hope to find 

 their names inscribed（题写，雕刻）. 

Made of soap. Now. Made 

 of smoke. Now 

 made of dew 

 and hairlessness. And how 

primitive, I realize, seeing them, it's been: 

 The body. Its 

silly limbs transporting, through the world, our 

 windblownness. Our 

 cloud wherever it went. 

Teeth, old-fashioned and enameled（上釉的）, so 

 easily chipped. 

 The nose, often 

 runny, sometimes broken. 

 Heavy eyelids. Ankle twisted. How 

did we bear it as it bore us, all 

 stuttering and limping, clomping, hungry, 

 shaggy（蓬松的）, horny, and diseased. All 

that meat -- grossly, morosely（愁眉苦脸地） -- weighted 

 around a soul: 

A simple soul!

 Exhausting coat!

 Skipping along like hope.