56) The Island of Language
Wolran Kim
Afloat on the seabed’s password like Finnish
But the sea never decodes
Floating subtitles on a voiceless film
Standing as a hopeless government wearing a straw mat
This brilliant floatage, never sinking, swallows only malicious tongues
Privy parts, wanting to hide, surface to the heart
The sound of snapping water chains all night long
Dampened and soaked, a territory of fiction
Even though the crazy sea wind lashes the back of my head
The island flowers, bloomed at intervals as signals of the wind
Never miss dry land
Even though there is no barge rushing in as an assassin
An uninhabited island, speaking of raging waves, turns into domains of shade
The wind walking on the water tosses a song of legend
Wishing to be a body of soil turning over and away from the soul
The private sea rose as a breast
How horrible: this isolated riotous freedom
The game linking the ends of words, never ending
Can’t listen, even if waves speak to me
Can’t answer, even if the sea speaks to me
A place of exile with flowers netting starlight
Is the sea grazed? Or is the island torn?
This place where a scab forms over swollen tragedy
Drops a fertile egg into the deep sea
Between the names that returned, crushed to pieces
A sound of the growing island’s babies as fruits
Sentences made from the horizon
Dividing the sky and the sea again
Just like the Jurassic, where once-extinct fish are bornagain
The island dances all night under the sea mask
Open my eyes as blank pagesevery morning
