January rain falls as though by mistake.
The sky and the trees are dyed a shade of blue.
The sound of rain stitches fragments of memory.
A January tongue, wet and intrusive,
Who is it that comes close?
The white cat that vanished on a sleet-filled night?

＊＊

The pale blue light of the stars pierces through the winter atmosphere,
entering the depths of my chest.
It wavers quietly at the bottom of my heart,
submerging fragments of darkness.
The unseen half-body of the universe,
when that figure turns toward me,
it looks down with the pained face of a ghost.

＊＊＊

One must transcend the horizon of phenomena, that person said.
It is something no one will ever understand.
Is that how the dead depart on their journey?

I saw the deep, profound blue of a planet within closed eyes.
Something that resided in the eyes of a newborn, seeing for the first time.
The infant, journeying through a lightless universe, headed toward the blue.
Sleeping within the slumber of water.

Toward the edge of expanding nebulae,
different species of cicadas cry with all their might.
For the infants, born only to depart again.

Transcending the horizon of phenomena,
carrying a single cold droplet of blue.
Life alone is the mystery of the universe,
that person said.