Fate of the Daogi, and others

In my childhood, I used to hear at night 
the bird call: daok, daok. Low, intense cry.
I slipped out of the bed to the hall, stared
toward the dark wood. No bird call,
but a light swam in the black lake 
of the night forest.

Trees vanished into the new houses.
I heard Daogi no more.

Light swam in the dark lake of the night. 


©Byung A. Fallgren