Archaeology
Forty
And thoughts of my death
(Immanent) pervade
A cancer at every turn
What will I leave for posterity?
These poems
My name in concrete on a wall
My children
The DNA that I have sent
Spinning
Off into the future
Perhaps memories to make
Someone smile
Like the memories of my dead
Do for me
****-all else
And in a hundred years
Nothing
Archaeology
