在缩尺一比四千万的世界地图上，我们的岛是一粒不完整的黄钮扣，松落在蓝色的制服上 我的存在如今是一缕比蛛丝还细的透明的线，穿过面海的我的窗口，用力把岛屿和大海缝在一起。

　　On the world map on a scale of one to forty million, our island is an imperfect yellow button lying loose on a blue uniform. My existence is now a transparent thread, thinner than a cobweb, going through my window facing the sea, and painstakingly sewing the island and the ocean together.

　　在孤寂的年月的边缘，新的一岁和旧的一岁交替的缝隙，心思如一册镜书，冷冷地凝结住时间的波纹，翻阅它，你看到一页页模糊的过去，在镜面明亮地闪现。

　　On the edge of the lonely days, in the crevice between the new and the old years, the thought is like a book of mirrors, coldly freezing the ripples of time. Thumbing through it, you'll see pages of obscure past, flashing brightly on the mirrors:

　　另一粒秘密的扣子——像隐形的录音机，贴在你的胸前，把你的和人类的记忆，重叠地收录、播放，混合着爱与恨，梦与真，苦难与喜悦的录音带。

　　another secret button—like an invisible tape recorder, pressed close to your breast, repeatedly recording and playing your memories and all mankind's— a secret tape mixed with love and hate, dream and reality, suffering and joy.

　　现在，你听到的是世界的声音，你自己的和所有死者、生者的心跳。如果你用心呼叫，所有的死者和生者将清楚地和你说话。

　　What you hear now is the sound of the world: the heartbeats of the dead and the living and your own. If you cry out with all your heart, the dead and the living will speak to you in clear voices.

　　在岛屿边缘，在睡眠与苏醒的交界，我的手握住如针的我的存在，穿过被岛上人民的手磨圆磨亮的黄钮扣，用力刺入蓝色制服后面地球的心脏。

　　On the edge of the island, on the boundary between sleeping and waking, my hand is holding my needle-like existence: threading through the yellow button rounded and polished by the people on the island, it pierces hard into the heart of the earth lying beneath the blue uniform.