Factitious airs, almucantar arctic.

   Cicatrix from afar
and solitary radar,
you alloy this gray guitar.


'Snowflakes flutter--butterflies chase flowers;
Ants float--my wine is muddy.
I pluck the Black Lute,
A crane dances to my tune.
A dog barks at the wicker gate--
Boy, see if my friend has come.'

--Kim Yông, ibid