 Let's cue pine needles on the ground as if abstraction of alphabet from the pine trees. Stepping on the small stone, I'm assembling into the letter left behind all through the night. There are evident messages from the scarlet carved leaves of the crime trees in between. I pick up one of them and make an effort to read it. Meanwhile, winds have proofread and revised it with a bilateral, people no one noticed. It looks like an invisible painter is scraping all of a sudden. Eucalyptus cones are dropping to send direct messages to me. At the corner, a pot cleaner starts to sweep the dispersed letters into a suspicious plastic bag. It's my duty to save some words this morning. The blue jade observing the trees and me start to sing like a chiming. When cones rattle off in my pocket, there are arranged on my desk like a library catalogue and waiting for me to reveal the words under the cones. Blackbirds. The way birds trotting to the lawn makes a scene in itself. Sometimes people see me on the way I watch the unseen birds. They prefer to specific boughs to sit. I've made my own trail at a fork in the road. The tiny blackbird is falling plum down over and over again. I cannot help imagine how do you feel like in a free fall. Counting on how many times you take a risk with a fragile but stable wings. I'd like to get your name on the way people ask mine. With a sense of kinship, you know, had a long fall with joy. While enjoying the flying fatigue, where is the wishbone heading for? Actually every morning I saw the same park and then I met some different trees and different birds, different people also. It's kind of started these two poems and then I just finished a couple of days ago and then I just released it here. The next one is kind of a special poem to me because it made me a poet. I got a literature award with this poem. And then actually I read twice in Korean first and then after in English. I'm sitting in the shadow moving up the questions while passing the longest afternoon. A big ant alongside me is following the contour of the fallen leaves. Would you mind being my master? I used to beg without hesitation. I would start feeling for good by studying your whole life. Carrying the basket over the colorful barrier you are approaching now. And a hand-dried fish to me there and then keep going your way. A fishing memory is playing my forms. The words were swallowed by fish clumbered to dry scales. Chopping sounds of scarters come down to the cast again. Words lose the sounds holding the memory of crying spread branches inside the shadow. Thank you. The next poem is actually my first try to written in English. For the beginning I just wrote down in Korean but gradually I'm reading in English. It's kind of surprising to me so I'm reading. Full caster. I'm out with rentals looking for myself by Amelie Dickens. In the middle of the road I'm waiting for Jay Streetcar. They were coming for a while. There is also hide and seek with strew tower and folks like descending clouds scattered, disappeared and again crowded around. It's likely to cast a spell on Twin Peaks with Sandy all day. Electronic signals are passing over the broken television and me from a part of away place. It's component part of it, rolling over streets. I found face in spaces, relief in my feet is asking what I'm here for like an officer at an immigration checkpoint. In silence, it's a questionable traveler. I remind somewhere else wondering of why wondering if my feet could work, my tongue could speak again. By saying hello to stranger I hoped I would come back to life. How long I locked up myself in a bed first, tapping me on the back. The last poem is I showed Kim the last month in poem ZEM. It brings me here in front of you. It's kind of my lucky poem and it's kind of big nice luck. It was featured in the magazine in Korea. It's my one of favorites and also my friends like this poem and them. Window Watchers. The window flickering at a second interverse. Candles on the windowsill receive a mouse cord from insomnia to another. Reading the shadow swayed however it was swayed. The opaque glass enclosed the moment of fire on the inside. Scratches on the surface. There is a face getting abstract. A sprinter of dreams cut off the slimness night. Carved the sky frizzedly. The document attracted a window and illuminated the mind filled on a crater. Rolling down the candle droppings. A typical lines are making a single solid figure with smoky farsive sounds. Do, do, do, do, do, do. While mining the air, there is a missing page for ages in the frame of the winds. As making up the imagination, the other sides. Windows are differing from the frames. Thank you for listening. As a gift, I bring some kind of leaves in eucalyptus. Every day I collect them while I'm strolling the park. And then it's kind of the memory of tonight. And also I put some sentence from my poem. I hope it's maybe it's a personal line in your own poem. So thank you for listening to my poem. Thank you.