《二月筑光者》
你们在节气褶皱里降生——
大寒的尾椎 立春的额发
工具箱成为襁褓
扳手压弯了产房的霜花
天生懂得与钢铁共情：
用焊缝翻译冻雨
用吊塔的钢索
丈量白昼渐长的幅度
那些说二月太短的人
没见过你们如何
把生日蜡烛的火苗
锻造成隧道里
不灭的探照灯
February’s Babies
You arrived when the earth
still clenched its frozen fist—
yet your hands learned early
to thaw nails into timber,
to coax steam from iron.
The month of short days
made you stretch each hour:
sunrise to nightshift,
your breath a steady bridge
between storm and scaffold.
They say February babies
are born with two hearts—
one to pump blood through winter,
one to store the unspent light
for weaker months ahead.
So when the crane swings
its steel pendulum,
when the concrete sighs
in its mold, remember:
the year leans on your shoulders,
turning toward spring
on the axis of your labor.
