Three Grains of Paradise

Three grains of paradise
remain in an abandoned
vessel, longing to be
summoned home.  Golden
brown edges caress
colorless fragments as eyes
await the epilogue.

Three grains of paradise
up in the air;
Father, Mother, Brother

Violent squalls water cotton
carnations.  Her tongue shall
not taste Inari’s holy harvest
even though hunger has come
to call.

On an unrelenting winter’s day,
three grains of paradise
covered in clay…

을숙도/Eulsukdo Island


Yesterday, my husband and I decided to check out Eulsukdo Island in Busan.  Between the months of October and March, Eulsukdo is a popular place for migrating waterfowl to stop and rest.  For some reason, the bridges closest to the water were inaccessible yesterday, so I wasn’t really able to photograph the birds as I had intended.  It was somewhat disappointing for me.  I managed to snap a few images from a distance.

The Vulture

And to the north I saw a star
which did not seem so very far
from where those lonely columns rose;
I felt its heat upon my nose,
and heard a willful, warbling call
emerge from heaven’s endless wall.
Through some strange force I can’t explain
that flaming bird threw down a chain
and pulled me up to raven sky,
now here I sit, away up high,
ensconced in Lyra’s brightest light
on this obscure and biting night.

El Retrato

hooded by ashen bristles,
thin, cracked lips
press together
in distant resignation

stained with sour
blood and spoiled
claret, they must
not wander  from the
window’s withering

for strokes of sunshine
intermittently invade
semi-hollow orbits
as they frantically
seek a footpath within
the dying day

silver agreements
become more precious
with every passing tick

::now I lay me down::

at the cinema, it sounds like
a whip striking taut

flying through the air
regally with pompous

exquisite and clean

the workmanship of a master

in this house, it sounds like
a ferocious closed fist
belting brittle bone

flying through the air
rashly with thoughtless

horrifying and coarse

the workmanship of a savage