Hokusai’s wave
Stands still in time,
Each tiny drop perceived,
Its foamy edges clear,
Far off Mt. Fuji
Fixing its location,
That single wave
That certain day.
Hokusai’s wave
Has been around the world
One hundred thousand million times
And touched the shores
Of every land with bordered shores.
From beginningless time
Hokusai’s wave’s been drawn to heaven
And joined the procession
Of clouds that drift and sail
Across deserts,
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Hokusai’s wave
Stands still in time,
Each tiny drop perceived,
Its foamy edges clear,
Far off Mt. Fuji
Fixing its location,
That single wave
That certain day.
Hokusai’s wave
Has been around the world
One hundred thousand million times
And touched the shores
Of every land with bordered shores.
From beginningless time
Hokusai’s wave’s been drawn to heaven
And joined the procession
Of clouds that drift and sail
Across deserts, mountains, valleys.
Fallen to earth
On one hundred thousand million journeys
To join the bodies
Of rivers and seas.
Fallen as snow
On frozen steppes in uncountable winters.
Penetrated the skins of tropical trees
In hurricanes that bear human names.
I bow to Hokusai who chanced to catch the wave
As it came together for an instant
Before rejoining the oneness of eternal water.
Jan McMillan lives in Westport, Washington, a small fishing village at the mouth of Grays Harbor.
