for Nathan Angel

Traces only, not even memories. This
silent moon the shimmering

witness. Confederate rows, six hundred
asked too soon to be

men. Markings all but gone on the
small reminders, rubbed

by the years. Faded précis. Kentucky
regiment on yours, nothing more.

In life, you were half-way to heaven, they
said. Favored. The only blessing though

the endless night. No ghosts now.
No whispers in the

wind. Palimpsests, a few scratchings
on stone. The lines of boys

sent off to war.