Canvas sails unfurled

all along the wharf.

Loaded to the gunwales,

a Clipper put to sea.

We left at break of dawn…

She longs to sing

The impulse is far back, behind her head

Where objections accumulate

She desires a melody, a poetry

But melancholy presides…

Bear, “There’s no sense in fighting over it. I should be at the top of the new totem pole.”

Raven, “No old friend, it’s not obvious. I am the key actor in most of our stories.”

From one thousand feet

this green patch

home to earth worms

future home to an industrious

widget maker or two…