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The natives believe that the Mississippi River
carries the souls of their ancestors into the water of judgment
wherein they will either enter the Sun's fire of joy
or sit in the ice of the Moon having their feathers counted and examined, 
I suspect that when we, The Corps of Discovery accomplish our mission
this Grandfather river will haunt us like a deep dream that fights Time,
He is an American river now, an avenue for the trade of empire, substance and soul,
President Jefferson purchased the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon in 1803
for 15 million dollars, enough gold to build a bed with
and a landscape large enough to construct a nation on,
it is now summer of 1804 and with hearts, rifles and ores we explore
into lands that lurk with life old as oceans and tribes ageless in tribulation, 
we are three dozen men whom hunt not warriors or wealth
raiding and rapine be not our pleasure, war party song our spirit sings not,
we are agents of destiny,
emissaries of Washington and explorers of the Northwest Passage,
the Spanish, French, and English already have merchants and mercenaries
peppered in remote areas of lucrative wilderness
furs, precious metals and trade routes lay naked to the will of disciplined conquest,
for the Indians survival is the business,  their heritage hinges on heroism,
everyone has a claim yet only one power will reign, 

J.A.B.

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