Korean Matins

In the morning
a man brings the sun
in a barrow of junk.

The only clean thing
is the mask on his mouth.

The sun he pulls rattles
like an empty Sam Da Soo
mineral water bottle
as it passes in its carriage of
cardboard and junk.

Here, the sun is blue
and transparent.

In the morning the man
and the sun
are here in the stead of doves
or the sound of falling rain.

Only white-tipped
winged magpies
live in the trees,
and anywhere else.

Even the palace of concrete
stands as hushed as a chess piece
as they come up the street
and move on to the further
horizon.

To the
next country westward
that must be lit
and awakened.

Brenna Moloney