I felt blessed riding the 6:05 train from Chuncheon to Sareung.
Maybe it was the ample, honest glow of the sun
still stretching behind the mossy mountains,
limbering up for the dawn's day ahead.

Maybe it's because I could hear-
sure as the train's faithful stop at each and every station-
God breathing celestial calm down into the valley,
stirring the leaves, but letting the people sleep.

Maybe it's because there sat leaning against me
a beautiful native friend, using me as a pillow-
one surely not as soft as the fluffy duvet
of fog which tenderly kept the river banks tucked-in.

Or maybe because each of her gentle stirs
reminded me of my place on earth right there, right then,
and kept me from being overwhlemed by it all,
kept me in my seat,
kept me from suddenly getting off at one of the vacant sacred stops
and attempting to be at one with the majestic.