Sonnet #396

 Not a single tree is free, they’re owned

Because the land is always spoken for

There is no rock or far, lost corner

Where no deed or treaty holds and zones

All that’s left of wilderness is this

The person isn’t ready yet to build

Or they built and want to keep a vista clear

Or the city hasn’t swelled enough to there

Or the flood zones and pollution could kill.

And oceans in their undiscovered places

Their swirling, teeming freedom from our will

The work of man, we still divide the races

Of fish and food and ships come

And paint their lines of rights in empty spaces