555

554

553

552

551
The cat is dying and it is as absurd
Night birdsong from the dark trees.
His paws have become names, individual.
Cars in the way whisper to each other,
The street become pew in fond solemnity.
They are all one, we know, mute
Then in recognition, as now.

550
(scene from "Bunshinsaba", 2004, dir. Byeong-ki Ahn.)

549
In spring is time into solace
Is winter's autumn
Is 8-mins light's grace a green jot prolonged
Is a time in time braced and held aloft,
And past present
And burst flecks tidy
In diverted gaze
Caught by a spring bird.

548

547

546

545

544

543

542
The firstling of my heart unstay my hand
To blood the invaliant rose;
And in my oversaying eye,
Decarnadine this salt pricklet.
.
Poor soul, two selves in one:
2PM other may note a day moon--
An interior quality sees the sun.

541

540

539

In the pale ward corridor

The white tiles just out of hearing

Whispered, behind footstep or caught word,

Of ghost memory,

Of lost nights coalesced

In one moment, and time become rumor.

.

At the perimeter, in daylit velocity,

The stones are slant spines on the green shelf,

With spare entitlement sufficient.

538

537

In the storm's small aftermath

In the wind-set twigs and branches

Fortune-tossed and telling

As the shaman's ancient bones,

I stood out of the moment

In future's skewed abstract.

What sun-lit crucible depending

From a morning sky?

Midway lost in willed illusion,

Mazed in self-deceit;

Then embered in rheum-eyed clear,

Letting footfall to the unmarked path.

536

535

534

533

532
In her here there's the blue bell
Warm as tears.
In her there there's the gold
As a faint dry tang
Of a strand of, not caught by, but become
A filament of sun.
Yet the moon's-eye blue
Is ours, soft as sleep finger's forgotten
Intertwinement.

531

530

for JS.

There was nothing beneath you, no substance

Nor surface underpinned.

You were

In bound abandon, done--

The evoked completion of another space.

Before I chanced to see

Your imprint in the field was gone.

529
Not the tint blur, but the repose
Of the red bird;
Spacious in brevity--
A pinned retina drop
In one stillness fraught.

528