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 | | :: comment :: . . . on this crisp november morning . . . sky brilliant blue . . . intense sun speaking of infinity . . . a gold leaf still clutching tenuously to the branch . . . a gentle blanket of white snow dusts the earth . . . and the breath clouds the air before you . . . stillness . . . a deep stillness hangs solemnly . . . a huge desire wells for this turbulent time to cease . . . open the eyes to see into vision . . . let the tongue rest in the cave of the mouth . . . let the eyes rest in the pools of the eye sockets . . . let the heart rest in the sphere of the rib cage . . . let the the ribs open like wings . . . and let the spine be a river washing in the ebb and flow of the breath . . . |
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Flower
Before I mouthed thy name
thou just was
not more than a simple motion.
When I shaped thy name
thou came to me
becoming a flower.
As I speaketh thy name,
please speaketh
my name in exact hue and fragrance,
then may I go
wanting to be flower.
All
want to be.
Thou to I, I to Thou
want to be
. . . . unforgettable
Chun-Su Kim transliteration by Ae Ran Jeong 10/26/02
Thoughts, wrote Nietzsche, are shadows of our feelings: always darker, emptier, and simpler than these. And the written word, it strikes me, is but a shadow of our thoughts. 
