Elevenses with Ghosts

Soldiers walk in whispers in Flanders fields
Unseen by the air that breathes on slim trees.
But I have a sense of having been
In this place once, when the Earth was rent
Open and spilled out and whistles summoned us
To immortality
Like obedient dogs.

But the land is green now, smoothed inscrutable and
The unknowing wind sighs between white stones.
The gray voices of the boys now wonder how we used
The gift they gave to us.
At the going down of the sun, I kneel and wonder too
Why I wear my poppy
Like sackcloth and ashes.