It is like a spring—
always flowing,
always streaming.

Seventy-six and a half years of diaries:
am I growing old,
or simply continuing the stream?

When I was asked to put my work in print,
I was lost for a week—
then I woke again,
flowing.

The spring rises very slowly,
like waking from sleep,
offering single words,
here and there.

Then concepts form.
Then they connect.

An ah-ha—
a moment of realization.

This is the journaling of my moments.
I am finally existing.

Am I growing older,
or younger?

Surely, I am in stillness—
and yet in eternity.

I am on the page of my diary:
never lost,
never forgetting.

I am here, always.

My wife hums
“O mio babbino caro”
from Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi.

A poem is a smile
on the canvas of the morning.

-TaeHun Yoon