[Afternoon Poem] Ajirang-i Typeface / Kim Bunhong

Desire is light, shaking the void and disappearing like smoke. Desire is rising, trapping me on a winding path. I am becoming a flame.

A sprout is longing for someone, within which a diary unfolds. Confession unfolds the sprout. With the lush sprout, I squander the spring. It seems longing also needs revision. While sifting out distractions, a windmill turns on the hill where azaleas bloom.

The windmill that insists on one direction and I who think of only one person share the same taste. That windmill must have endured dizzying moments many times. The time of the windmill, which keeps turning the scenery without stopping, is refraction.

■ It is March. It is spring. Of course, it is not yet warm enough for heat haze to rise, but here and there, tiny blades of grass sprout, and it is spring playing house. On such spring days, I feel nostalgic for no reason. I wander, wait, and mutter words for no reason. I do not know why. I do it helplessly. I do it without a plan. It is not because I miss anyone in particular, yet I do it. Maybe that is why it feels more dizzying. Maybe that is why I recklessly squander another season. But what does it matter? This longing on this spring day is a longing I want to go out to meet again and again, a longing I want to welcome again and again. It is a spring day when bright flower lanterns have already formed on every tree, though they have not yet bloomed. ? Poet Chaesangwoo

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