A roar
came running from very far away,
crossing ridge after ridge,
like someone searching for home,
and crashed into my chest.

Ah—
the scattered houses
embedded far below,
which last night
were starlight.

Carrying their homes on their backs,
migratory campers
settle and resettle—
where is their heart
today?

Where has the sky gone
that was scraped against the ground?

Wives and children left somewhere,
men follow foreign roads alone,
go out to work from dawn,
and when asked in the evening
say only,
“I’m just tired.”

Retired households,
families that return with the seasons—
see you again
next season…

People living
like oil lamps flickering out,
while ridgelines
come running,
clutching one another.

All night
that roar
shook our tent
and wept.

On the road we left behind,
the wind’s edge—
still, gratitude remains
in the heart of God.

—Yoon Tae-Hun, Richmondville, New York, August 15, 1998