And In The Morning

And In The Morning

A light mist blows in
settling amongst the dark crowd
shoulder to shoulder
collars turned up
keeping out the sorrowful chill
borne on the breeze.

The trumpet call
gives memory wings,
a silhouette
against the dull grey of a sky
promising dawn,
heavy with urgent whispered prayers,
a flood of recollections,
images stark or hazy
sensate moments
a brush of skin
rush of blood
a russet hillside, a lonely field, a beach,
the single piper's haunting song.

At the silence, birdsong?
the release of souls.