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 
Over her.

Can you look at one face
For the whole of a life?

Does the moon peer down 
At the tides and hunger for home?