They say you’re walking the banks of a river in that country. Your small shoulders glisten like a butterfly. Though I only glimpsed from behind, the image of your return hung before my eyes, so I held out my...
Was it May? June? Seokkoku stems’ blossoms had flowered. If you walked on, settling waves of white Cow Parsnips would be in bloom. A day like this—the last traces of fading sunset, a chill and...
My night to you is midday, and your midday to me as night. Between us lie the breaking waves of the vast Pacific. Violent waves wander the dark and endless shoreline grasping at some meaning. But...