That winter when awareness flies away
and I keep losing keys and cat and mind,
time will be falling, time will fall behind
over and over, dimmer day by day.

Surprise, then, will decide the way of things,
and I won’t bother over what life means.
Youth will revive at times, and playground scenes—
me in the sandbox, friends on slides and swings.

May I at least once find you on the lawn,
lie there, your spry lap holding up my head,
and worship you, since you are ten years dead
and I want to forget that you are gone.

HyunJung Kim, Prayer of a Cicada, gold powder on paper, 2017. Used by permission.