! ! In His Eyes, His Eyes

His open eyes, one catching the sun, shining towards me – presumably they still function optically: recording, unmoved, unmoving, my presence; this dead soldier, sodden in the ditch, half his body peaceful, as if welcoming his death; the other half unmentionable; animals must eat; his eyes recording my presence, yet the brain now with no need to question whether I’m the enemy; or friend; the medic; the man who’s just shot him several times at close range, standing over; or the man he shot just now; come to greet him as his newest friend.