It was the period of my exile
keenly aware, scoping the peninsula for Canadian currents
teased by the myth of development
tempted by the sight of the shantytown
viewed from my apartment high above Seoul;
make-shift shelters permanent in the refuse
a human face to the doctrine of poverty
smoke, some food cooking, voices talking
loudly in Korean
recounting the instances of their lives
a laugh creeps up out of the decay
simple and unconditional, reflecting the moment
as an ancient tradition fights back
against the unfolding of the new world.