Near Horseshoe Lake, Cahokia’s plotted site
Collapses, mound by mound, from inside out.
The river’s down from what it was, the fight
Gone out of it. Still, even in this drought,
The archeologists reconstruct, piece
By piece, the skeletons of priests and kings,
All under pressure to stop work. The lease
Is up soon. No one can pull the right strings.
The past depends on laws the state enacts
Each year. We, too, sink, soft silt beneath us.
A viscous earth, words, buried, artifacts,
Shards our heirs will unearth, debate, discuss,
Brush, ossified, the hardened Midwest soil.
Remembering is apart from God’s toil.
[Check out Richard Stimac's back porch advice}