They have said so much about Fujisan,
Called it by different names,
Sought its genealogy in Yamato or Ainu languages,
Sketched it, traded it to infiniti, yes not infinity,
And now it has become the symbol
Of all that we can imagine about Japan
And perhaps much more,
Just place anything before its image
And it works.
Once more clouds gather around its
White immaculate skirt
And the sun slopes its angles on snow
The wind turns cold,
The waters of Kawaguchiko shiver
Immersing the triangle in liquid gold
As ducks paddle in the twilight around
Looking for the last fish
Before it really turns dark
The lights shimmer in eternal circles,
The clouds weave patterns above the summit,
As illuminated slivers move through interpretations,
And in the darkening freedom
History collapses
Both on the summit and the waters
The mountain sucks in the light,
The wind, the lineage,
And then vanishes suddenly.
