A photograph, taken at dusk, of Tokyo & Mt. Fuji looming behind,
a line, running horizontally across the middle of a photograph;
below it, the city: a field of lit buildings & streets,
buildings: blocks & cylinders of rock, metal, glass and light—
streets: human rivers of car-lights,
the glowing orange Tokyo Tower rises like a great sword to fight the sky—

above it, the mountain: great, wide cone of rock & soil, with a cap of snow,
wisps floating up its ridges,
the cold, purple sunlight kissing its backside;
his peak is looking down at the city.
It is waiting,
like a grandfather,
while the wild, excited boy, pours Elmer’s glue on orange construction paper,
         ruining the rug,
the mountain is waiting.
The mountain is stronger,
and when the children move out,
he will rock in his chair,
as always.