The Effigy Mounds

The high point of the ground is the canopy of bear.
The space between that and the canopy of bird

Is the heart’s canopy, where we walk across the shapes
Of what’s gone missing but nothing is buried where

The ground heaves up with the work of the woodland
Cultures. They knew the shapes were what

They’d built from earth to impress themselves.
The fleeting things don’t really come and go–

They are among us still, in your hand on my back.
In how far a word will fly to reach its nest.