The New Yorker @NewYorker
“From behind a wide cloud slid stars like flecks of bone, old and glowing. They held their breaths. When one dashed across the black, I think I gasped admiring the platonic plummet: it left no fallen body. No broken heft.” A poem by Nell Wright. https://t.co/bmxKWYP5ch — PolitiTweet.org
