To Be Happy in Korea

of ten thousand faces here,

a million feet

that cluster under neon lights

painting alleys in the dark.

We are the liquid night,

fluid oil that flows

past stars, coating sky

that spreads to darkened alleys.

We are the chanting trees,

blowing shadows on the shore,

the stardust sand that sparkles

on this world as one

billion brilliant mirrors.

And we are happy here.

We are ubiquitous peaks,

granite teeth piercing

tender green,

catching wind in

crags of rock,

holding tight together

verdant valleys, and shades of grey.

We are the scented spice,

dancing within molecular air,

weaving aromas into our minds,

and fusing memories of past impressions

like a tendril coated

in history.

And we are happy here.

We are without boundaries,

fulcrums for moments, tethering

past pinpoints of life

to the flourishing present.

We are catalyst actions

yet to unfold, yielding

newborn events

as evanescent as ether

draped in moon beams,

as permanent as sun rays

that warm the chattering leaves.

We are as real here

as sunlight upon skin,

as fleeting as dreams before dawn.

The presence of us now, affixed

before these foreign eyes,

emits strange affinity,

and bonds all with kinship.

Pausing presently, breathing deep,

we stand and steep, anchored

to a pinpoint in time,

unique and invisible at once.

And we are happy here,

we are oh so very happy here.