Before the monstrously winged engine of blue,
Up and away from a lakeside desert of white,
Across low-ramped mountains of tree-splashed clay,
Ever higher above the brush-hued plains, etched by man
Beneath an azure-blue vault,
The viewer soars above a dipped wing,
Arching to the wan-blue haze of the horizon, banded in white.
Black, ridge-backed ranges loom low,
A river of mist spilling from the dark rock defiles,
Creeping toward a river of winding blue,
Rising green in the riven hills,
Carved in ages gone.
-A Vision complete at 34,000 feet
He: Gilgamesh: Into the Face of Time
