The soldiers stand 
in clumps 
smoking cigarettes 
and kicking 
the dirt 
with their boots.
 
Half the village is empty
although the well
is stuffed 
and overflows;
across the center square,
the church spire leaks
thick black smoke
spewing ash that falls
like winter’s leaves.
 
A century later,
rain weeps through 
the deserted streets
and washes the salt 
from the tears 
of the dead
stirring under the earth.