there’s another country buried here
in the ground (under all this snow
i can see it in these rice field rows
the white shrouds make them look
like the curved plane of a giwa roof
as if some long-departed designer
(maybe even old king sejong had seen
it just this way & thought (in all of
this order i smell yin & yang merge
white moon above) dim bird below
the empty furrows coated like tiles
(here i will make my sweeping arcs
admiral yi sun-shin’s burial mound—
see the turtle boat) cloaked in snow
