Swamp
The ink dark sky choked with ripened longing
with a face darkened and stricken with fear toward the inner sea
spills a whistle stained with traces of your hair
In the thrashing strong wind a mind lost shower
plants the thorn of memories grown in Udo
and scores the shoulder of Seongsanpo sleeping in stillness
Caught in the defiant shove of the departing shower I
gently seized as if falling into sleep by the touch of the leaving wind
flow toward the pooled water where you remain
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