• Mirage Ocean II

Winter brushes the fingertips
of the shaman—
empty-bodied,
visible from all directions—
morning and evening.

A bird, perched on a dry branch,
laughs,
its entrails spilling out.

Hair, like scattered feathers,
drifts toward
buildings stripped bare,
unfolding slowly—
a voice without accompaniment.

The night that had been swept away
returns to the shaman’s room
and folds its wings.

• © TaeHun Yoon, 1972

(Note: This poem was written in the aftermath of the Korean War, during a turbulent period marked by military coups and authoritarian rule. It reflects the spirit of a people living under dictatorship.)