Naps and Myongdong
against the window
precipitates my nap,
a glorious mid-afternoon slumber.
What dreams did come, of the theater in
Myongdong we went twice a year,
all the people, the cold, the arms intertwined
like the cover of that Dylan album,
chewing on those little walnut donut things, steaming,
they sold in popcorn bags on the street.
The wispy sound of a distant music, faint enough not to recognize.
That feeling that I could wonder these streets until morning broke.
you tug my shoulder and say
“you won’t sleep tonight”.
I honestly admit,
I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
I only know the present through the past,