Yesterday, I leapt
from the hollow of a vanished “now.”
I danced upon a birch,
a totem coiled like a serpent in one hand,
a legend clutched in the other.

I grew smaller
as the mirror swelled.
I died, and rose again.
I died, and rose again.

Today—
I am no longer yesterday’s self.
I see, I resemble,
yet I leave the house
and shoulder a bundle into the cave,
seeking tomorrow.

Not the lost tomorrow,
but the discarded one—
not torn between peaks,
but crawling quietly
into the unseen bundle on my back.

The road stretches like the totem,
my dance turns wholly mine,
and the song spills free.

Where the bluebird vanished,
names gather like forgotten days.
Even departing,
I cannot cast myself away.

My soul stays,
building its cave,
leaping beyond the future.

On a spinning top,
my legend is born.
The wind—
the day—
was lost.

[Before Series – 2]

© TaeHun Yoon, 1971