When the sky goes grey

the crow collapses,

breaking into a million

pieces of colored glass.

We witness this removal

of flight and gather the

fragments, arranging them

into a replica of a ship—the sails,

a delicate interpretation of feathers;

the mast, a golden beak. This vessel,

now disguised as a stillness

in the dusk, on vespertine waters

we set off to discover

the atmosphere again.