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            After a Rainy Autumn Night

            Paik Philgyun
Because the self (nae, 내) lies between seeing (bo-neun, 보는) and sending (bo-nae-neun, 보내는), I see your back and send these words. This is a crossroads where one traces the stories that have brought earth, rope, and salt to this point. Shadows of menhirs stretch long beneath the eaves. The master of the eaves wears a robe of straw rope. Beneath its ribs, its torso cradles a lost sibling—a stump, stripped bare, having given everything to the boy, leaving only itself behind. It longs to become unclaimed ground—where those without a share might rest; a space of dissensus where freedom interrupts order.

Armless bodies stand side by side, spaced an arm’s length apart—front to back, left to right. Their steps, lingering in last night’s wind-path, reach the stone field where questions begin to bloom. After a rainy autumn night, seven menhirs, five letters, four salt stones, two rope pillars, and one stump await their guests.

The memories lodged in the seven menhirs dwell in silence—not absence, but the silence of a voice not accounted for. On days when the red wilderness whispers omens of death, the colors that wait and those that confront one another share a profound kinship. When the front-right menhir steps forward, the diagonal axis aligns the menhirs and the Winddance in a mirrored symmetry—just a step away from the end of the field.

Right-Front, Dog’s Bladder misses the thick, furry breath.
Center-Front, Cloud Screen yearns for the tilted walls of the square.
Left-Front, Memory of Dawn greets the wind beneath the dawn sky, beyond the mosquito net of the high-rise home.
Center-Right, Valley of Fire is stained by the red wilderness.
Center-Center, Wild Chamomile Array nurtures the days of youth left in its stamens.
Right-Back, Weed Struggle carries on the roundelay of grasses.
Left-Back, Sandy Palm descends the staircase, recalling his lover’s skin.

The memories entangled in rope dredge up forgotten questions. Where does grand love take root? Hope writhes within the transparent pillar.

Left-Center, Parting is neat.
 Center-Back, Aerial is a tiger-evading path—studied by all.

Frost gathers on the angular crown of the salt named after the sea goddess. He measures the world by a contract that is never renewed. In the raindrop-ringing hall, the boy wipes the frost from its surface. With the resolve to call it an ark, he continues to tend.

The oncoming lover is said to be the cause of forgetting. Nonsense. A pillar that supports nothing orderly promises a torso shared by tree and human. Yet here, Another Stump is the share allotted to me.


Translation : 923