The you I thought I knew,
in a room swollen with wind—

a mother, though breath was cut short,
was not left without promise,
nor without farewell in God.

Escape, 탈신, 脱身—
not into emptiness,
but into light;
her bare feet found footing
on the sky that no longer was hollow,
where discarded shoes
became wings.

Yi-Sang, 이상, 李箱,
once sought to step on sound
when the wind trembled,
yet I have learned instead
to walk on the Word,
where even trembling
becomes song.

Since the day you chose
to be endlessly foolish,
grace entered the locked room,
and what no dog could carry away,
the Spirit lifted beyond measure.

At the last, my mother
was not lost from me,
but placed her love
within the shoes of faith
I now must walk in.

In my grave,
tomorrow does not collapse,
but spins itself steady
like a child’s top,
anchored in promise.
And though many still insist
that tomorrow is today,
I know eternity
is quietly breaking open.

Yes—
I was once the endless fool,
but breaking became remaking,
and repetition became resurrection.

[Wind Series – Part 7]

© TaeHun Yoon, early summer 1969