The cherry tree began to lose it's blossoms last spring.
The entire road was littered with white petals.
It looked like snow.
Today the cherry tree has littered the road again,
With autumn leaves, crisp on the ground.
Same road.
Same tree.
But oh, so different.

After I fell in love
I did a thousand things:
I wrote a poem
I wrote a song
I wrote a story
I saw a sunset
I saw the stars
I played some music
I played a game
I painted a picture
I took a trip
I took a class
I grew my hair
I lost some weight
I learned a language
I hiked a mountain
I built a house
I planted a garden
I got sick
I got better
I got a job
I got a dog
I got a cat
I cut my hair
I moved away

The quality of the wood on the cupboard.
Old poets, plums and wheelbarrows.
Is the toilet paper on the roll correctly?
     up? or under?
We never know why. We aren't allowed to ask.
Just watch and tell me what is.
     - no understanding?
     - that's impossible.
And everything will fit neatly -
     of course we must trim the edges.
But everyone expects that
     and we want it tidy.
So the sack full of cheerfulness
     can lay there all day.
It won't bring tomorrow any sooner.

One, two, three.
     There are a thousand things to love.

Four, five, six.
     There are a thousand people to thank.

Seven, eight, nine.
     There are a thousand sunlit oceans.

Ten, eleven, twelve.
     But one disappointment wipes them clean.

One, two, three.
     Life moves in forms I don't recognize.

Four, five, six.
     Smile and pretend it's not true.

Seven, eight, nice.
     The future soars to meet me.

Ten, eleven, twelve.
     Then leaves me stranded here.

Ah moon
You are a memory
My love
     ebb and flow
          flow and bleed
               blood and tears.

Don't cry sweet moon.
Dance with me.
Encircle me.
endless, endless, endless dance.

Little stone child,
I breathe warmth, but you're cold.
I breathe life, but you sleep.
Endless, endless, endless slumber.

You are a memory of my liberation.
But are you really free?

When I leave Seoul I will
     cut my hair
     burn my clothes
     shed my skin and
     emerge
     a shooting star.

Repetition and boredom,
Like the little shrew
     who painstakingly
     memorizes the
     safest path then
     takes it forever more.
Swiftly
     Blindly
          Mindlessly
Waiting for an obstacle to break the monotony.

Bedouin woman
How far away you are
I cannot speak your
     language
I do not wear your
     veil
But we wait
     together
In the hallway
For the doctor
In a clinic far from home
Trying, discreetly, to nurse
     our toddlers.

Woven strands of silken hair
     over, under, over, under
Brushed away from face and neck
     over, under, over, under
Like the weaver's warp and weft
     over, under, over, under
Tidiness made beautiful.

I'm trying not to chase my destiny.
     (Let it come to me.)
I'm trying not to force my destiny.
     (What will be, will be.)
I'm trying not to hold my destiny.
     (It soars when it is free.)