our eyes on the blues
of Coal Harbour, rife with wind
we rest, cupped in a moment.
How the Salish Sea has changed
and still beneath wave and pavement
thrums a heart connected to trade
seasoned by years of muscling voyage
anchored in exuberance – this cloth, this
metal, this animal wealth – wild
brambling lust for change, for fusion
burls onward, now as ever.
In a beat, the rest of the flowering trees
will surge open; for now, the ATM
blinks choices of language, a string
of pearls from afar chattering into shape
forecasting. This is the Pacific century.