Seoul

Hair flung,
Catching the bird wing
High on the sky
Right by the mangled coil of telephone wire.

I am so young.
I crawl to you,
Sun
I now see the back of your head,
And think quietly how far I am
From Home.

They don't do good coffee here.
I wake up with tar taste in my mouth
And flowers on my dress.

But as far as we throw ourselves out,
We can't run away from
Our desire to run.
That feeling of oceanic abandon
Stays the same.

The ocean turns and turns
And out you come
New and shiny yet
Divided by one.