After the end
she wore the beige bra that she bought for him
because he liked plain things  
under a dark turtleneck that meant she was mourning
their loss even if maybe he wasn't

she shivered into the street
and watched the palm drop on the moon,
the stars pop out like street lights whose bulbs you couldn't change,
their high up light bleached the night,
falling over the Prius, bouncing off the half-bumpered Honda, sliding down the metal window connector of the neighborhood's only El Dorado before ending up on pavement like most things do
the garage seemed to radiate and
other people's windows glowed yellow

as she turned to go
a cat rolled across the four lane road
like it was a meadow

Round, the kumquats grow
Sharp-leaved,  they green the sky
The gate opens wide

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.

I can not forget the very first time i set eyes on you.
My heart was in a whirl as you mov'd closer to me.
Enchant'd may i have been, yet modest and true.
If i, wanton and impolite as i be, should have a fancy for 'ee,
I could have for my own eyes caused such a great pleasure.
For you were such a fair sight to the modest eyes.
Nay one man's eyes missed 'ee as swaggered.
J'ining the crowds, proud o' yourself med 'ee have been.
I miss those fair days, ol' Marygreen, by the weather spoiled were we.
'Twas i to seek 'ee, my being heart-tender, hurt to hope.
I oughtn't to hope for God's grace as you whisper'd my name,
Yet 'twas only what had troubled me.

My dear Sue, thine anger upon me was wanton.
As swiftly raged at me, unto me being surpris'd.
I love thee, may not i unto God be made
a saint.
Had i determined my course of action.
I could have been tolerable unto thine eyes.
My heart to pledge as of yore, yet torn and misled upon your path.
Alas! Don't 'ee charm-veiled come to conquer my heart as to setting about planning another journey not to be done.
Before God, and angels, though cast into agony,
'twas me unto whom you came when dark.
My Sue.... My dearest Sue....

no man has seen him, but
when here, when making his grand appearance
the world prepares for him.

the trees are first to bow down,
bending their trunks and shedding their leaves
and swaying about their roots to royalty

the half-damp clothes on hanging bamboos prepare
with its fabric flapping to play a fanfare,
then sound off with a fluttering finale as he whistles by and leaves.

the angled windows then, as if by unanimous consent,
slam themselves painfully into perfectly parallel
posture – like soldiers in a straight file.

and in mirthful defiance, a wandering page of the news leapt
and caught the wind like a kite, riding the city
on its crests and troughs

the first of drinks in days descend,
in short successions, teasing rain.
the trees and earth will crane their necks,
to receive like wine on lips, the shower.

they savour not the cool of wine-water,
for the rain itself has travelled long.
and when it lands to quench their thirst,
you hear the sounds of glass and liquor.

the rain has passed, as transient as nature.
another glass later, when the earth croaks dry.
but now, the wine has cooled their lips,
the air revived by a rain perfume…

and down are the necks of the heavy drinkers.