Mon.
I went out grocery shopping.
I bought uncut Gijang seaweed and soaked it in cold water.
On the veranda a scallion flower blossomed,
and a curled-up snail sat on it.

Tue.
I couldn’t wake up.
My frame had fallen asleep, coiled on itself,
so after turning round it
I silently approached
and lay down again.

Wed.
You took a train, to be rattled
and to look out
the coldly passing landscapes, putting your brow to the window.
I was sitting in a chair on the rooftop.
Closing my eyes, I hung my ears high like a flag.
The tender sound of a train could be heard.

Thur.
When we called love’s name, we were not there.
We had become a horned beast to each other.
Between your fear and my fear,
black blood flowed down.
Conversations between us were fingered like gore.

Fri.
While I was out of the house, you
died for yourself several times and were reborn several times again.
Flowers also blossomed and fell several times.
The floor was soaked with your prowling foot prints.
Countlessly overlapped, they looked like
the footprints of so many people who had dropped by.
The smell of boiled rice, flower smell, smell from the laundry
was awfully brimming.
The house Tyltyl and Mytyl came back to might have looked like this.
We talked while we folded the laundry.

Sat.
You called evident failures like us love, I nodded, turned around and rather called it blasphemy. Every nasty thing in the world is calling sensibility running out of its use and your kindness after going around the earflap flows into the body and I write down in my diary my wish to be eaten to the core, write down that there will be no pain in being eaten. Whenever I opened my diary, on the desk the sins of my life
were
piled
up
in a heap

Sun.
After folding our letters into paper planes, we flew them.
The letters that had filled both wings fell down fluttering like the first snow

Again Mon.
You went out grocery shopping.
You might not come back.
Or leaning your back against the outside of the front door,
you might cry for a while, covering your mouth, before coming into the house.
Anyway scallion flowers blossom,
a snail after making phlegmatic temperament from its tears
is advancing step by step
on the surface of the prickly round scallion flowers.
I, standing squarely like a refrigerator,
am waiting for
my inner things to be radiant and cool.