May your grateful heart
Be filled with laughter, joy,
And the magic of each new day.
May the spirit of wisdom
Color your life through many years
Just as the mountains and the oceans
Cover our wonder-filled earth.
May your grateful heart be full.

This poem began somewhat biographical due to aging eyes.  
It took a darker turn.  What else can you do with an unruly poem but write it?

I have imaginings trapped inside my mind
Yet, I fear that I may be going blind
Because lately this is what I find
I get bleary images and flashes of light
I try to focus with all of my might
It is no good, you know, it became a fright
No matter how I try, I can't adjust my sight

I said to them, in answer,
It can be that way with small-minded people

My words in writing will sit with you, and
They will not judge.  

They listen when no one else listens.
They will hear what you wanted them to say.

Then speak them to your heart.

Her aching abdomen thumps with desire.
A universe resides within, waiting
For stars and planets to be born under a moon.

Ancestral entanglements wait for births
While weaving memory into a heavenly gauze.
It will catch the haunting inheritance of those

Before, present, and past.

The quiet ache of love
Beneath the bandage
Putrefies unless cleansed
That covered wound, which
Never healed from lack

I heard the whisper on the shore,
Walking along the hot, dry sand.
It burnt the soles of my bare feet.

The hot, humid breeze singed my ears.
Autumn, autumn is calling, it hummed.
We hear her chant from far away.

My friends in Australia called out to me,
It carried across the vast oceans and seas,
"We'll send her your way, friend, but

Only when we're good and done."

Seung-Woo, the fruit ripens;
Cherry, plum, gourds on vines.

I made the baskets we need.
They will last our lifetime.

Seung-Woo, I flowered;
You picked me among all.

Here in our little house
We will flourish and gather.

Seung-Woo, our fruit ripens.
Come the harvest season

I will give you a son.