A blank page
one drop of black ink
I look for a long time
then for the first time
I write with my own hand
The crown is back on my head
the palace gates are as they were
I walk the same corridor as yesterday
but I am not yesterday's me
I remember the life I never lived
I hold the season that never was
Instead of asking which is real
I decide to keep them all inside me
At the end of a line someone left
my fingertip quietly touches
Over the empty space that waited
a new shade of ink spreads
A season we write anew
it begins at my fingertips
even a road that never was, without a name
continues along one line
A season we write anew
so that your breath continues too
even the days we cannot remember
we write down again
One line
one breath
one person
Another line
another life
another season
There was never a right answer from the start
no finished story either
someone left the rain behind
someone else continued with spring
What will I leave today
words that aren't the palace's name
not knowing whose they will become
one line that reaches whoever reads it
Don't register it
don't seal it
don't put the name "the end" on it
When the hand changes
the rhythm changes
and one line makes another road
The jangdan flows
the circuit connects
old breath and new signal
It isn't copying the past
it's the next person writing on
Tradition is not a frozen shape
it is something alive, always changing
So leave it empty
one space at least
for the next hand
The poet I was looking for isn't there
but now I know the reason
What outlasts a name
is the place handed to the next person
A season we write anew
it begins at my fingertips
even a road that never was, without a name
continues along one line
A season we write anew
so that your breath continues too
even the days we cannot remember
we write down again
On the last line
I don't write my name
Instead, one small sentence
"From here on
your season"
And I set down the brush
One line
one breath
one person
One page
one road
one season
It continues
it continues
it continues
A season we write anew
it begins in our hands
days that never were, springs that never came
come alive along one line
A season we write anew
not an ending but a continuing
when someone opens this page
it becomes a new road again
A season we write anew
goes farther than memory
the tomorrows not yet written
we write down with our own hands
Leave one line
And
leave one space empty