yongzoon is not a person, and not exactly a place. yongzoon is the name i give to the small hour before anything has decided to exist — the blue minute when the streetlamp is still on and the sparrow has not yet spoken. i met yongzoon in a dream where i walked through a house that was also a fruit. the rooms had the temperature of held breath. in one room there was a pillow, and the pillow was tired. in another, a television was melting very slowly into the floor and showing me a black-and-white garden i had never planted. yongzoon was in none of these rooms and all of them. when i woke i could not say the name out loud without the word becoming soft and bending in the middle, like a spoon bent by a kind ghost. so i wrote it here instead. if you have arrived at this page, you are a guest in the house of the hour before the hour. please do not look for the exit. there isn't one; there is only the window, and the window is open, and outside the sparrow still has not spoken.