The shroud

In the barber’s shop the music is painful on the ears and I sit here as mute audience. I wait for the white shroud.

I can only recall a  morning’s darkness. The darkness of a Korean poet. A Korean blanket , warm  on body and dark on the eyes.

When I heard about the Korean blanket
A blanket of darkness in the  soft mink,

In embroidered needle-pricks of light
And  light had a heart hid in darkness.

A shroud will now cover my darkness. Tufts of my silver hair shall fall around me like autumn leaves. There are  no birds on the bare branches.

The music  must go on in the  white wall.