Reborn in the cartwheeling smoke

Beneath the war cries of saints  

Their curses fall in volleys

With venom and fire

–

Torn away from a dream

By their thundering boots

Charging over the calm

Of our shared hallowed ground

–

Hurrying back through the trees

Blasted down to stumps

The mad voyage of their shrapnel

Levels some

Sparing others

–

Back and forth in this haze

The young summer days seethe

As we tussle in the shade

Of our bronze molded gods