Here is no destination,
but the hazy finale of a hasty departure.
My half-baked attempt
to escape a conspiracy of
normalcy; drift for a time
on the simple tide of uncertainty.
That’s why I’ve come.
(Korea: the Hermit Kingdom.
Land of the morning calm.
Land of Buddha, Confucius, Christ.
Home for dragons. The Asian tiger.
A peninsula engulfed in mystery.)
So roll my thoughts,
as the first sight of luminescent green
peeks from beneath the wing of
this 747. A fistful of peanuts
and half-dozen cocktails churn
in my belly as I level a drawn out gaze
across the heat-seeking tarmac—
Korean Air touches down,
sucks air, jolts and bucks
to taxiing speed.
On the ground
the world beyond
the window’s monocle looks
not much different than the one
I left behind: steel and concrete,
people and cars, love and betrayal.
Deplaning—a backpack
slung over my should like
evidence to be dumped—
the pretty Korean flight attendant
says anyanghaeseyo then goodbye
then smiles in the way that tells me
she knows something I don’t.
