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Poem

the field is given a name
battles are about where they disappear
the ones that walk away 
      don't know where the hell they are

                         after the mayhem
peace continues destroying barns

        birds peck at exploded eye sockets

insignia and belt buckles 
are hunted to extinction
                                     
mists shuffle a daze of time
     the rattling roll calls of magpies and jackdaws
echo the click-clacking of jawbones 
          executing orders and counter orders

the officers that stumbled forward or away
                     go quietly mad or marry well
shell stumped foot foragers tell their slogging tales
then find newly cracked rockers
                           to slip away on

between the hour before dawn and midday
the violence died away in smoke
                    muddle and disorder
no land was lost or won nothing ended or begun
                    only this smoldering
cannon blasted field surrendering its nowhere acres

eventually milk cows and goats are purchased
to he hell into butter
dead horses are brought back
                           as glue and sacks of fertilizer
the stubborn ghosts of mules bray on

the unnamed are plowed in or out
framed in visitor centers
the bearded and beardless site-marked and told
         by the grave tongued rangers 
who speak for the listening gone
and the whole much pounded shebang 
                                    grid referenced
as the muzzled earth still heaves up 
                           its lead riddled bones

the blue and grey leave to fight 
      their own way home
                while another day breaks its promise

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