The flanks of Kennesaw Mountain sparkle—
ground baptized with blood
of fertile young men with minds
blank as new tablets.
Harker and McCook,
Vaughan and Cheatem,
like all generals and men
who send children to war,
wander wildernesses, marked;
the ground above their graves barren.
In the night, dust lifts beneath the feet
of Slaves and Soldiers, dancing sons
and daughters of mothers
no longer weary.
