In a spray of tin plates, twisted forks,
empty cans and bits of rusted metal,
chimneys stand alone, skeletons
that grape and creeper hold aloft.
Mortarless stones, kettle handles,
iron bands from barrels
tumble toward the brook.
Children scream and shout there;
Union soldiers, too, drawn up into tree trunks—
roots grown through them—
alive again in asters and bees’ wings.
