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I was sitting on the root of the tree and fell asleep.

The root spoke to me.

The wind interrupted from time to time.

I woke by the sound of empty can blooming into a flower from the recycle garbage can.

The root spoke to me again.

The wind interrupted again and the root reached out its hand with its branch.

It could touch nothing.

I can see that I was like the root that could not touch.

1 could not climb to the top of your mind,

 And now I understand that I was nothing more than water pipe of the tree.

You followed me even into my dream.

When I spoke to the sleep, the flowers kept their mouths shut all at once.

The wind held its breath, too.

The morning of when I woke from a deep sleep,

I see roots hanging from the end of a branch.

By Cheol Su Yeom

of Bundang-gu Songnam,

South Korea