“I wait on the forest floor, in crow feathers, filthy. I guess
— Avitus B. Carle (she/her) (@avitusbcarle) July 16, 2019
at pink never and hold the egg like a death omen, eat it
in the glow of foxfire, throat open. Yesterday I worked
for hours on the slope of the asphalt...”
//@ek_anderson//@TriQuarterlyMag//https://t.co/eeDxquqgDx