People more talented than me are writing about Japan.  I offer only this poem today:

 Holding this poem
Close, like a mirror,
I breathe upon it.

 

I watch for some sign.
There is a faint mist
Spreading across it.

 

It takes hold.  It clings
To the lean hollows
As the sun rises,

 

This sun that is going
To burn the mist off.

 

I give you chamois
To clear the surface.

 

I give you this sun. 

 

Poem for a Survivor, Donald Justice, from Collected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)