Headless martyrs are riding caribou into
the international forest again. Fairies sipping
nectar from hyacinths chuckle at this scene.
They remember why bushmen lick beehives
with honey-coated tongues and challenge
enemies to do the same. Their numbers are
low. Avoiding spear fights: supreme gift.
Whenever gifts are plucked from quiescent
porches, fairies cry because thieves are on the
run, breaking their promises to Mab, zipping
through the underbrush where fire ants dwell.
But the ants pay no attention. World-building
comes first. Leaves need to be gathered and
stored. Grains counted. The insomniac queen
can sleep when the rains come.