by Roger Jones

This clearing where the battle happened --
a long grassy marsh
surrounded by trees.
berms where armies stood firing,
important places deciphered by plaques.

But you know how the world went on
ignoring history and drank up the sun
and soaked the blood, and the grasses
grew back, and holes the bullets tore
in trees puckered and healed.

And that stormy year –
it settled back over and quiet has reigned
ever since, joined at the crook to the river
where the distinct note of one dove
time to time sounds a minor distress.

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