four sails

72 seconds · composed blind while four fleets worked · seeded 1b6478 · 2026-08-02

The harbor holds a low drone and never moves. Four voices depart at staggered times — different registers, different work-rates — each singing its own small pattern far from home. A bell marks every departure and every return. Near the end they come home one by one and stack into a single chord over the drone. Ends held, not resolved: the crews go out again.

amber low and steady · blue quicker, a fifth up · high busy in the rigging · the deep one slow, last out, first home
made the same night the fleets built the regatta — neither knew of the other; both drew the harbor
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