Dear. Kyeong-sook
Acrylic, pigment on muslin

There were no corners or doors; the space was vast yet closed. A tiny night might peek through a wound no bigger than a fingernail.


Heard a whisper of something falling from the depths to the left. Perhaps a small leaf from my dream.

Time passed and the tree became the tree that had once been a tree, And in time she became the one that was once her.