Written by Ashley Johnson
Who now keeps the desert
We held in our upturned palms –
A cradled, sun-fallen mirage flung far against the sanded hearts of mountains?
Who now hears the quiet rush of snow we breathed in our glacial lungs –
A melted whip crack of strings against the sharpened arms of trees?
Who now walks the moon-burned land we tread in our dry earthen rhythms –
A kindled nomadic flow of stars against the rock of bone horizons?
Who now lights the stirring bow,
Chilled vein of winter scores?
Who now glides in blacken white,
To break these walls of ours?
Who now strums the chord of night,
Where we, circled, sat for hours?
And who now sings for sorrow’s plight?
What a Dreamer’s heart devours,
Ashley Johnson, a California native, has just returned to Gwangju after a few months of inspired travel through China, Mongolia, and Vietnam. She spends her time cavorting with fellow artsy and creative types, teaching English as per the norm, and moonlighting as a bartender downtown.