Here is not Nana, now.
As everything in the world leaves traces when it disappears,
Nana was erased with deep trembling.
Whenever I miss madly,
I go to the salt-barn at midnight.
There I can still find pieced tiles, and hear the cat voice
Hovering like wind over low weeds.
And I see the earliest dawn.
Nana Stories
AuthorHanyong Jeong