He was half-delirious now, and it seemed to him As if he had two bodies, one that was pain And one that lay beyond pain, on a couch of dew, And stared at the other with sober wondering eyes. “Everyone’s dead around here but me,” he thought, “And as long as I don’t sing out, they’ll think that I’m dead And those stretcher-bearers won’t find me⁠—there goes their lantern No, it’s the moon⁠—Sing out and tell ’em you’re here.” The hot body cried and groaned. The cool watched it idly. The yellow moon burst open like a ripe fruit And from it rolled on a dark, streaked shelf of sky A car and horses, bearing the brazen ball Of the unbearable sun, that halted above him In full rush forward, yet frozen, a motion congealed, Heavy with light. Toy death above Gettysburg.