---

He lay in a ditch, alone; the nameless man; staring upwards
at the sky as though searching for something lost.
A bird, or perhaps the shape of a cloud
that bore the likeness of home. Or a place so distant
as beyond reach. An echo lost along the airy way.

By the close of day, the soul was gone,
Leaving behind a body riddled with bullets.
Shrapnel. A still smile on cold lips.
And the sun setting in the blood
as it sets in the sky each night.
An insect playing on the skin.

Drawn to the aroma and the fascination of death:
taking life from it. And the celestial mirage of his homeland
Breaking apart in the sky like a slum borne into the tendrils of an airstrike.
And all things vanished now. All things quite silent.

---

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