Could it be..

Could it all be indistinguishably beautiful
like this old woman with firm, small breasts
like a teenage angel,
like this man with a tiny ponytail
perched on top of his head,
or the waiter’s arms pressing a door code
to start dreaming?
or the sleep crust around her eyes before breakfast,
her bow at the end of her long plait,
 the description of a murky sea,
unready to be calm,  the sky divorced from us,
like a prayer without words or beliefs—
Indistinguishably beautiful, like us.