I learned to sail a thousand years ago
On an ocean far removed from this river
It never really leaves you
An oar is an oar, a sail a sail
This boat is small and narrow draft
Compared to the deep sea hunting ships
I was taught my craft on
Still, current, wind, balance
Spot the place our prey waits
It doesn’t change
We tie up and begin to fish.
Number 160 sees the triumphant return of elf-poetry.