The Elephants

The Mourner

White cloth wrapped around black hair
White shoes clinging to rough feet

White shirt and white skirt cover the sad body
White band closes in on the small waist

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The Frightening Hour

Who is calling out to me?

I still have some breath left in me here
under the shade of these large green leaves.

I who could never once raise his hands.
I whose hands had no place in the sky to point to.

Where in the sky is there a place to call out to my one body?

After I have finished living on the morning of my death
these sorrowless leaves will fall to the ground.

Don’t call out to me.

---

Morning of Beginnings

It is not a spring morning
Summer fall winter
It is not that day’s morning

A red flower bloomed
Sunlight so bright it was blue

The night before
The night before
Everything was prepared

Love and the snake
Poison and the young flower

A road without signs

At the station on the platform
There is nobody exiting

All are honored guests
Honored people like guests

Every house without a sign
Without the worry to find a house

Like red

---

Another Morning of Beginnings

Covered in white snow
The telephone poles sob
The word of God comes down

What is the prophecy?

If spring comes
Quickly
I will sin
My eyes
Will open

When Eve finishes giving birth

I will cover my shameful parts with a fig leaf

And sweat will fall down my brow

---

Self Portrait

I go alone to the lonely well, around the mountain, at the edge of the field, and look in quietly.

It is autumn inside the well the moon is bright the clouds flow the sky spreads a blue wind blows.

And also a man
I turn away from.

But as I walk away I feel pity for the man.

I walk back again, look again, to see the man is still there.

Again I turn away.
But I long for him thinking of this man as I walk away.

It is autumn inside the well the moon is bright the clouds flow the sky spreads a blue wind blows a man like a memory.

---

The Boy

Here and there a sad autumn like its leaves falls to the ground. And everywhere the leaves have fallen spring stands ready and the sky dangles over branches. The sky would turn my eyebrows blue if I stared into it quietly. If I rubbed my warm cheeks with both my hands my palms would turn blue also. I look at my blue palms. In my palms a clear river flows, a clear river flows, and inside the clear river a sad face like love, the beautiful face of Su Nee. The boy shuts his heavy eyes. Still he sees the clear river flow, and the sad face like love, the beautiful face of Su Nee.

---

Eight Blessings

Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn
Blessed are they who mourn

For they shall mourn forever

---

Until Dawn Comes

Dress all who will die in black

Dress all who will live in white

Tuck them into one bed

Give them the breast whenever they cry

Now if dawn still comes
Sound the trumpets

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The Night I Return

As if returning from life, I return to a small room and put out the lights.
The lamp light is the exhausting reminder of the daylight.

I open the window for air. It is just as dark inside as it is outside. This life is the one I knew. The road I took in the rain is still wet.

I close my eyes to purge myself of the rage of the day. Sound floods my mind. Right now my thoughts are ripening like rotting fruit.