The exit
is opening—
somewhere,
at the river’s mouth.

What lingers on snow,
there is no path.

Primal fear
is coiling.
The empty future
is trembling.

An endless aria—
Aria da Capo—
strikes
two notes
in the night.

Within the sway,
there is a flow.

A jagged stone,
rolling as it will,
in the muddy monsoon waters
is finding
a hollow torn by wind.

The sun’s light
is pressing—
the earth,
the globe.

The sound
is breaking loose,
is falling,
falling outward.

Wind beneath the eaves.
Rain dripping.

Exit.

Like a river bursting,
like a river pouring,
sound itself
is wandering.

[Wind Series – Part 3]

• Original text written in Korean.

© TaeHun Yoon, Early Summer in 1969