The Extinct Traders by Greg Keeler‏

They should stand in a river, the makers of laws,
wars and money. They should feel the dark
molecules turn in their sockets of stone. Their flaws
should be transparent, their flesh should stand in stark
contrast to the mud, roots and leaves of the pools.
The builders of dams, weapons, and walls should stand
among the herons, holding their obsolete tools
above the current, talismans in a grand
gesture for the inspection of gnats. Let
these plastic fossils become a gaudy clock
to gauge the decline of freedom, the rise of debt
among the extinct traders in water and rock.
Let them hold their precious commodities forever.
Let them weather. Let them stand in a river.

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