From "Rose"

This dark

star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head

My love's hair is autumn hair, there

the sun ripens.

My fingers harvest the dark

vegetable of her body.

In the morning I remove it

from my tongue and

sleep again.

Hair spills

through my dreams, sprouts

from my stomach, thickens my heart,

and tangles the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.

What sprouts from the body

and touches the body?

What filters sunlight

and drinks moonlight?

Where have I misplaced my heart?

What stops wheels and great machines?

What tangles in the bough

and snaps the loom?

A strand

pierces my left sole, shoots

up bone, past ribs,

to the broken heart it stitches,

then down

Sometimes my love is melancholy

and I hold her head in my hands.

Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.

Then, I must grab handfuls

of her hair, and, I tell you, there

are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men

taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,

not knowing

which they love more, the water, or

their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward

the feet.

-Li Young-Lee