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UKIYO-E The blues' plunge, the oranges edging towards dun catch the eye—a certain perspective, singular, a certain weathering of inks. I think of the Floating World as the prints themselves, not the district where they sold: landscapes, actors, and geisha unmoored, the paper flimsy and cheap, betraying the subjects' own quickness to change: the sumo wrestler's fierce eye will grow mild, his black hair grey, while passing from hand to hand for a hundred years the sky of Edo deepens, readies itself for the first pale stars that will not come. 48 ...

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