星河揽月

星河揽月

序：

当银槎划破星浪的刹那，醉客的眸光已越过虚实的界碑——是要在水底捞取沉璧的影，还是伸手摘下天心那枚孤悬的寒？风突然扯碎云纱时，皓魄正从裂帛处涌来，近得仿佛指尖一触，便能接住满掌清辉。

这般渴慕原是无需言说的。就像月华漫卷成银练的瞬间，泠泠然漫过肌肤，直抵肝胆时，碎冰似的光已在腕间凝成流焰，烧得人非要飞渡不可。

于是长篙点破天镜，玉魄入瓯，饮下的何止是亘古幽玄？分明是把整个星河的璀璨，都揉进了魂魄里。纵然后来焚作星屑，或凝成永夜的霜，那指间跃动的光漩、怀中紧抱的孤光，早已在冰轮上刻下不灭的疆——这或许就是人与星月的宿约：以一瞬的炽烈，换永恒的皎洁。

银槎，劈开凝滞的星浪，

醉客凭舷，眸中灼灼——

欲揽那水底沉璧，

欲摘那天心孤寒？

风骤起，云纱裂帛，

皓魄浮涌，近在指端！

清辉，便如此漫卷银练，

泠泠然，濯洗我

整副渴慕的肝胆。

碎冰似的月华，沁透，

缠绕腕间，化作

一束不熄的流焰。

那就飞渡吧！任这长篙

点破天镜，搅散深漩。

俯身舀一瓯玉魄，

倾杯饮下亘古幽玄。

银汉无涯，何惧途险？

此心已系冰轮最皎洁的环！

纵此身，焚作星屑散，

或凝成永夜霜——

终不悔，熔入这璀璨：

指间跃动的光漩，

怀中紧抱的孤光。

星河为证，明月永铸

我魂魄不灭的疆！

后记：

铺开纸，便想邀星河来小坐。

原是嫌那“天河”太静了，像被岁月封在琉璃盏里，于是悄悄把星子融成了水。看“凝滞的星浪”被银槎轻轻划开，看“银练”漫过来，漫过腕，漫过心口，倒像真能把积攒半生的渴慕，都浸在月光里浣洗干净。后来写到“舀玉魄饮幽玄”，笔尖忽然软了——原来亘古的月亮，是能被酿成酒的，抿一口，竟尝得到千年前的清辉，和此刻舌尖的微颤。

那抹月华，初时是“碎冰”似的凉，缠在腕间，不知怎的就暖起来，成了“不熄的流焰”。许是心里的火太旺了？人对月亮的念想，大抵都是这样的吧：看着是清冷冷的，摸上去，却烫得能烧穿骨头。所以后来写“焚作星屑”或“凝成霜”，竟没觉得悲——烧起来是亮的，冻成霜也是亮的，只要那点“璀璨”还在，怎么着都是好的。

总爱让身体与繁星相认：让眸光接住星芒，让肝胆接住清辉，让手腕接住那缕月焰。人这一生，不就是在给自己的骨肉，绣一张星图么？到了“魂魄铸疆”那句，忽然懂了，我只是想让这副皮囊，真的与星河有段缘分，不必太大，一寸就好，是月光替我量的。

“揽沉璧”“摘孤寒”，原是痴话。可那天风忽然掀起云纱，月亮猝不及防撞进指尖时，我分明触到了——人活着，总要有点这样的痴念，才不算辜负那抹突然亮起来的光。银汉那么远，路那么长，可心里系着最皎洁的那一环，便不怕了。纵是成了星屑，成了霜，能融在那片璀璨里，已是幸事。

笔下的字，都带着点力气：“劈”是银槎的木桨碰着星浪，“裂”是云纱被风轻轻撕开，连“点破天镜”都藏着三分小心，怕惊了水里的月。那些冰、玉、火、霜，原是一路跟着心走的，从温润到炽烈，从破碎到凝定，倒像看着自己的心，在月光里慢慢透亮起来。

其实不过是想告诉自己：当星子落在纸上，当月光漫过笔尖，我与这星河，便已有了不必言说的默契。它懂我碎在字里的光，我亦懂它流在风里的响。

再记：

凝滞的星河，厚重如亿万年的玄冰，是那银槎，以决绝之姿劈开！船首犁过之处，星浪翻涌，碎成亿万点冷冽的寒芒，溅落在醉客的衣襟与眉梢。他凭舷而立，眸中并非酒意，而是比星辰本身更灼热的火焰——那是一种焚尽灵魂的渴慕。他俯视深不可测的渊薮，欲揽起那沉落水底的璧玉，那失落的、凝固的月光；他仰首逼视幽邃的穹顶，欲摘下那颗高悬天心、遗世独立的孤寒之魄。星汉无声，唯有他胸腔里搏动的烈焰在呐喊。

骤起的宇宙之风，撕裂了包裹天幕的云纱！那裂帛之声清越而凛冽，仿佛宣告着某种亘古禁锢的破除。刹那间，皓魄再无遮拦！它不再是遥不可及的幻梦，而是骤然浮涌至眼前，巨大、澄澈、冰冷得灼人，仿佛只需醉客一伸手，便能触及那流转着亘古玄机的玉璧表面。清辉如瀑，再无阻碍地倾泻而下，漫卷成一条无垠的银色长练。它泠泠然流淌，带着宇宙深处最纯粹的寒意，瞬间淹没了醉客，濯洗着他那颗因长久渴慕而焦灼、鼓胀的肝胆。那感觉并非温柔，而是像亿万片碎冰凝成的月华，带着刺骨的清冽，沁透肌肤，缠绕骨骼，深深钻入血脉的每一个角落。它们并未冻结他，反而在腕间、在心头，凝结、燃烧，化作一束挣脱了形体束缚、永不熄灭的流焰！

“飞渡！”一个声音在灵魂深处炸响，盖过了星河的沉寂。无需踌躇，长篙在手！篙尖点落之处，那平滑如镜的宇宙天幕应声而裂，涟漪扩散，搅散了下方潜藏的、吞噬光线的深漩。醉客俯身，以银瓯为器，舀起那近在咫尺、荡漾着玉魄清辉的宇宙之精。没有犹豫，仰首倾杯！刹那间，一股蕴含了时间起源、空间尽头、所有未解之谜的“亘古幽玄”顺喉而下，冰冷与炽热交织，瞬间点燃了四肢百骸，也冻结了刹那的永恒。银汉茫茫，横无际涯，前路或有无尽凶险？醉客心中却一片澄明，再无惧意。他的心魂，早已系牢在那冰轮最皎洁、最核心的光环之上，与之同辉，与之共震！那是他唯一的航标，唯一的归宿。

纵然此身，下一刻便在这极致的璀璨中焚尽，爆散作漫天星屑，随风飘零；或是被那极寒的月魄冻结，凝成永夜深处一粒孤独的霜晶——又有何憾？终不悔！因为那爆散的星屑里，那凝固的霜晶中，已然熔铸了这无上璀璨的精魂。看啊，指间跃动的，是捕捉到的、流转不息的光之漩涡；怀中紧抱的，是历经万险才触及的孤绝之光。这光漩与孤光，便是他存在的全部意义与永恒印记。

星河奔涌，无声作证；明月高悬，亘古不移。它们共同宣告：这以凡躯（或灵躯）勇闯星海、渴饮玄奥、甘愿熔身入璀璨的魂魄，其疆域——已然在明月的光华中，铸就不灭！纵使形骸消散，那束源自冰轮核心的孤光，那点跃动不息的光漩，将永远在星河的背景上，标记着一个名为“追寻”与“不朽”的坐标。

序：

When the silver raft parts the tide of stars,

the drunken traveler’s gaze already crosses

the boundary of dream and substance—

to seize the drowned shadow of jade below?

Or pluck that solitary chill suspended

at heaven’s core?

As wind shreds the silk of clouds,

the moon’s pure soul surges through the tear—

so near: one touch, and my palm

would brim with cold radiance.

Such yearning needs no words—

like moonlight spilling as molten silk,

frost-clear, washing over skin,

seeping through heart and soul.

Light like shattered ice congeals

around my wrist into flowing fire,

a burning urgency to soar.

So the pole pierces heaven’s mirror;

jade soul in the cup—what is drunk

is more than time’s dark abyss.

It is the galaxy’s brilliance,

kneaded into the marrow of my spirit.

Even if I burn to star-dust,

or freeze into eternal night’s frost—

the vortex of light dancing at my fingers,

the solitary glow pressed to my breast—

have long carved an imperishable realm

upon the icy wheel.

This, perhaps, is the covenant

between mortals and the stars:

trading fierce incandescence

for eternal clarity.

诗歌

《Silver Raft and Lunar Fire》

The silver raft parts stagnant tides of stars,

A drunken traveler leans on the rail, eyes aflame—

To grasp the jade disc drowned in waves below,

Or pluck the solitary chill at heaven’s core?

Sudden wind rends silk-clouds, torn apart,

The moon’s pure soul surges, brushing my fingertip!

Clear radiance, spilling as a molten stream,

Crystalline-clear, rinses through

My heart and soul—all thirst laid bare.

Moonlight like shattered ice seeps deep,

Twining round my wrist, becoming

A living flame that will not die.

Then let me soar! With this long pole

I pierce heaven’s mirror, scatter spiraling depths.

Stoop to scoop a cup of lunar essence,

Tilt the chalice—drink the abyss of time.

The Silver Stream knows no horizon—why fear the void?

My heart is tethered to the brightest ring of ice!

Should this body burn to scattered star-dust,

Or freeze into eternal night’s hoar-frost—

No regret, melting into glory:

Vortices of light leaping through my fingers,

The solitary light clasped to my breast.

Witness, O River of Stars! The moon forever casts

My soul’s imperishable realm!

后记：

Unfolding the paper, I wished to invite the river of stars for a quiet visit.

I had always found the "Celestial River" too still—as if sealed in a crystal vase by time itself—so I secretly melted the stars into water. Watching the "stagnant star-waves" part softly beneath the silver raft; watching the "silver ribbon" spill over my wrists, over my heart: it truly felt as though a lifetime’s longing could be rinsed clean in moonlight. Then, as I wrote "scooping jade essence to drink the eternal dark," my pen suddenly softened—as if the ancient moon could indeed be brewed into wine. One sip, and I tasted millennia of radiance, mingling with the tremor on my tongue.

That moon-glow, first cold as "shattered ice," coiled around my wrist, then somehow warmed into an "undying flame." Was my heart too fervent? Human yearning for the moon is always like this: it looks cool and clear, but to touch it burns clear through bone. So when I wrote of "burning to star-dust" or "freezing into frost," I felt no sorrow—to blaze is to shine; to crystallize is to gleam. So long as that "brilliance" remains, either fate is welcome.

I’ve always loved letting the body commune with the stars: letting eyes catch starlight; heart and soul bathe in clear radiance; wrists cradle lunar fire. Isn’t life but embroidering our flesh with star-charts? At "my soul casts its realm," I understood: I only wished for this body to share kinship with the Milky Way—a small plot, measured by moonlight.

"Grasping sunken jade," "plucking solitary cold"—these were delusions. Yet when the wind tore the clouds’ veil and the moon crashed into my fingertips, I truly touched it. To live, one must harbor such madness—or else betray the sudden blaze of light. The galaxy is vast; the road endless. But with the purest ring of moonlight anchored in my heart, I fear nothing. Even as star-dust, even as frost: to dissolve into that brilliance is grace enough.

The words on the page pulse with force: "parting" is the raft’s oar meeting star-waves; "tearing" is the wind rending cloud-silk; even "piercing the sky-mirror" holds a tender caution, lest the moon in the water startle. Those images—ice, jade, fire, frost—followed the heart’s path: from warmth to ferocity; fracture to stillness. It was like watching my own spirit grow luminous under the moon.

In truth, I only meant to tell myself: when stars settle on paper; when moonlight spills over the pen’s tip; between this river of stars and me, an unspoken understanding blooms. It knows the light shattered into words; I know the currents flowing in the wind.