At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jaggèd, like an old man’s mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an agèd shark.

Fujisan (富士山) rises above suburban sprawl
Seeming entirely serene in a snowy white sugegasa
But he is token and portent of power pouring over us
Two flanks grinding thrusting surging releasing life and death
"Everything I touch with tenderness, alas, pricks like a bramble."