The thing about constantly being in pain
is having to lie down in odd places:
an office storage room,
a crowded airport terminal,
and on a park bench in Nami Island
where the sun swaddles me tightly.
I catch a glimpse of heaven
in a falling sea of crimson leaves
making their way to the ground.
The trees know what is to come,
but they look for new beginnings.
Do they get tired too, of waiting?
Your eyes wrinkle when you smile.
You place a scarf across my neck,
shielding me. When I return it you say:
Mummy is not cold, but your hands
are hidden in your pockets.
I don’t believe deserve it.
In an office storage room,
a crowded airport terminal,
and on a park bench in Nami Island.
I find traces of grace:
If heaven is the reason we are here,
love is the reason we endure.
INFINITEWORDSONPAPER 