after Hokusai
I watch day's azure fan grow dim
beyond the western sky's gilt rim.
Behind giant kauri in a line
a blue balloon pursues the sun.
In vain I wait to greet the moon,
but see only a cumquat stain.
Mauve cloud is stretched as sheer as silk;
the galaxy is milky rain.
I think of Hokusai's design:
an evening with the tinge of wine,
whose moon, persimmon, grasshopper
will never taste their own decline...