She recognizes its crest in the way he looks at her.
The wave is as vast as the roiling mass in the Japanese
Print they had paused in front of at the museum,
Capped with ringlets of foam, all surging sinew.
That little village along the shore would be
Totally lost. There is no escaping this.
The wave is flooding his heart,
And he is sending the flood
Her way. It rushes
Can you look at one face
For the whole of a life?
Does the moon peer down
At the tides and hunger for home?
Reprinted by permission of the author.
Source: Poetry (June 2001).
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This poem originally appeared in the June 2001 issue of Poetry magazine