A Civil War Battleground

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