A.M. Gwynn

as the crow flies 

Steadily, they let go of people

and things, arranged them into parcels

for the heart’s chambers, unencumbered

with object or obligation. It was necessary,

whether they intended to live or die.

But there were moments when the mist rolling

in waves through the pines met the muted orange

haze of the rooftops and blue vibration of dawn,

and they perceived God.

The captain and commander of the Word

spoke to their little boats’ heave and roll,

unlocking the coordinates between darkness

and light.

I sift through the discarded shells

of those fragile birds—my kingdom come

entwined with the never-ending atlas of clouds.

I will meet them again as the crow flies

in the archipelago of Heaven.

A.M. Gwynn's most recent work appears in the latest issue of The Airgonauts. Her other work has appeared in: War, Literature and The Arts, Popshot Quarterly, Grey Sparrow Journal, The Thieving Magpie, Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine, and other literary venues.