Celestial Mirage

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