Excerpts from Borderland Roads

 

Writing What I See

An old wife sits at dusk, grieving
in her charred village.

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Her unkempt hair, like frost—
both eyes, muted.

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Her husband imprisoned 
by creditors.

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Her son, drafted, follows the King’s son,
bound for Ch’ongju.

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In a house assaulted by war,
pillars and beams burn.

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The daily work can’t be done—
her will to live has ceased.

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I hide in a mountain forest
without my hemp dress shirt.

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What business remains for an officer,
calling at the gates?

 

 

Sending Away a Visitor, Sitting Alone

 

Piles of sutras, the warm stove, and unbroken silence—
my solitude, as an Immortal’s house.
The warm day brightens plum blossoms, and my steps—
a light wind seeps through the gate, fells willow flowers.

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I’ve given up writing. The roof-tile ink-stone slabs,
long dry.  I should heat Dragon Tea over the strong fire.
Don’t say I have no guests in this isolated place—
it’s quite natural for bees of the mountain to visit.