Repeat Visit

Repeat Visit
 
 
 
I drive through the battlefield at Gettysburg,
 
past fields of corn and monuments of stone,
 
imagining their charge and defense,
 
their courage.
 
 
I curve around maple and oak on asphalt,
 
passing Spangler’s Spring and Culp’s Hill.
 
Then the sound of a flute, not certain it is a flute.
 
Faint on the air, stronger on the approach,
 
the music leads to a low rise, and
 
just beyond I see the uniform, blue and pressed.
 
Feet together, fingers exact, notes clear,
 
now finishing.
 
He nods, returning to his car,
 
where his wife sits reading a paperback novel.
 
 
 
originally published in The Binnacle