2 Poems

Draughts of moist air move through Seoul,

and the whales shadow rooftops, moaning.

Couples slouch deeply in plastic blue chairs,

tipping beers and stirring bowls

of hot noodles. Everyone is laughing

and lonely. Someone opens his mouth

to speak from the heart

and his soul stops and fumbles, ashamed.

Shafts of white streetlight spill onto the streets,

jostling through darkness for space.

From church, a flock of wild prayers

beat their wings at the dun sky.

Somewhere, a young girl with a gentle mouth

studies till blood drops from her eyes.

I lay a blank sheet on the flat of your stomach

and write this so quickly it tears:

do you see, my hand trembles, it trembles.

It takes all the green loveliness

of sleepwalking in dreams

to forget what it means to be lonely.

It takes endless walks in the loosening dusk

to remember: the whole world is lonely.

Inheritance: an unchosen

housefire of years, a word

with the burden of fate.

I love and resent

my broken red jewels,

this rite to enchain me

in love. Love as a form

of slow violence, locking

my heart in an ice inn.

Hence I train myself

to offer welcome. Hence

I used to incinerate hope.

Inheritance is a dark gift:

both an inner itch

and a caress.

I fold myself into a kite,

fleeing to a borderless sky.

An entire chain ties

my feet to the past,

but my lips, at least,

brush against stars.

I run after the kingdom

of God. I entice rain

and drown in wild grace.

Only then can I live

as heir to these ancient

wounds. Only then

can I pass on this ache

that never grows tinier,

only then can I

reincite han.