Daejeon, Korea
September 21, 2010
Midnight rains have stopped, for now
and mild mist softens the darkness
that hovers just beyond
pale streetlight bathing
the final bus stop from Daejeon.
My life is a journey to this:
a white dog emerges from shadow
brisk about his business
makes his rounds
slips silently on.
What mark I will make, has been made,
so with undue pride and regret
I shed my self to step emptied
outside the light
a pilgrim at peace with the night.
Though dawn lies distant, somewhere
beyond my horizon, midmorning
shines forth brightly, I have faith. But
here I am, happy
to watch for forms in the drifting of fog.
Brothers, we are bodies becoming
spirit, forever drifting
mid-transit. We are always
awaiting embarkation.
We have always already arrived.
Too soon the rains will return
and the lullaby tap of wipers
will sooth intermittent sleep
through the last empty hours
of night in a far country,
And my bus will plow, steady
to causeway’s end
beyond the mudflats
where sea and sky merge
gray and indistinct at Incheon.
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