We Drowned the Land of England in the Waters of the Denendeh

It was clearly understood,

there was no ownership of land,

so clearly does the land, in fact, own me.

My water from the river and my nitrogen,

a buffalo protein.

I am a fleshbound manuscript of what this place might say.

Hear in it how family made the treaties, live them, love the land,

this place this creek this river.

Make a settlement of me, make mud, make silt and send it on its way:

Saskatchewan

Athabasca

Slave

Mackenzie to the sea.

If you could take the dirt of England and rejuvenate the ground,

if you could manage, as was always done,

as people and the beavers manage,

take the soil of England,

cast it in the lakes across the north,

and ball it up and handfuls,

homes, and dams,

and hold the land of England to account

for Canada, 

for the bishopry,

for the Company,

and record it in the manuscript of the north-west.

Then write these things that we are saying down,

write them on two sheets,

one for you and one for me to keep.

Hold these things we learn and teach them on,

tell the story written in the mud,

recorded in the river,

and copied days downstream.

Then I would hope you carry safe your copy, 

and when you reach the sea,

find England,

compare it with this copy we have made,

and stir the ocean with it.