I was going to wait for dawn,
right before the sun would pass through the fog,
As twilight shook off the colors of night,
and they fell upon me,
A shadow against the horizon,
and the moistened rim of an empty bottle
by which I hung;
I was going to go down as the sun came up,
become a ravishing site to the child in a backseat
3 miles away and below, whose maybe never seen a vulture
prepare for its feast; its areal show
against a backdrop of hills and mountains.

Anything can be beautiful,
I have learned that;
a battlefield and its flapping flag,
centered, framed-
glorious.
And anything can be sacred;
A torn ticket, a frayed thread,
even a blurred vignette of a place in the distance.
But direction has become a poison,
and so I must lock my gaze on the sky-
on the unseen specks that maintain life,
blending with the scenery.
From where I stand.
Breathtaking.