Songs of Fictive Moments: The Soldiers

A bit of an experiment I have been thinking and working on.
Fictive moments.  Cinematic vignettes.  Images.  Minimal ornamentation.
A story that is mostly told by not being told.

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In a cold field of gray
and stubbled grass,
six soldiers stand
in a circle smoking.

A chill fog swallows 
their words.  Their
long coats flap
in a desultory wind.

Before them,
at their feet,
at the center of their circle,
a blossom grows
from a small and 
cooling form,

one bright color marking
the early arrival of another,

as dull
as the fog, 
as the field,
as the uniforms.

They stand, 
as stiff and still 
as the stalks about them
and as dry.

At the edge 
of the field,
a crow coughs 
and climbs
into the sky.