Missing

I must be missing an arm or leg.
I count them, and they come out right
(Right arm present, left arm present)
But still it feels like an arm is missing.
I count my legs and it comes out right,
And yet it feels like a leg is missing.

My brain, if anything, works better than ever,
And my guts supply what my heart can not.
Brain and guts can even make poems,
Which is good, because my heart is missing.
Deborah left me, my heart is missing.
My brain works fine, but my heart is missing.

You used to be so brash and bold,
But now you're so quiet, my friends all say.
They look at me and they think I'm whole,
But wow, you're mellow, they keep on saying.
How else can I be with Deborah gone?
For I am here — but we are missing.

—Il San, Korea
8/21/2000