Through tannic steam I catch a glimpse of Fuji: 
Against a yellow sky volcanic gold
A saucer narrows nature very strangely,
In shallow ripples lovely to behold. 
The clouds, like little webs, like spider legs, 
Are pierced by sun no bigger than a mote, 
And bird-fish, fish-birds, flecks that will be dregs, 
Spin azure topaz outlines as they float. 
A tiny world with spring a world in it: 
There comes an air of almonds, blare of horns, 
And all the gulf if twice as large would fit 
Encompassed in the hug of porcelain shores.
But now an unexpected twig - mimosa - 
Has fallen where its shadow split the sky,
Just so, at times, in philosophic prose 
A glint of poetry will catch the eye.