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Sarracino, Carmine, 1944- / The heart of war
(2004)
Sharpsburg at sunrise in April, 1867, pp. 40-41
Page 40
Sharpsburg at Sunrise in April, 1867 The morning blooms out of blackness as out of nothingness itself. Faint light pours a shy green into pokeweed and mullein, into the tender, shooting new grass covering all; stirs clouds into bluebrown Antietam Creek; touches gold a cord of braid in the beak of a robin, her breast reddening like remembered joy. On a sandy patch she snapped the threads from a rag of sleeve. Small bones there in perfect order lay, like the exhibit of a marvel: The Human Hand (which can set a gunner's level or trace at parting the outline of a lover's chin). 40
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