Black against a burning sky, a bird flies through the wreckage of creation, surviving what nothing should survive. This 1970 sequence is a counter-Genesis, a myth cycle in which Crow witnesses, mocks, and outlasts the God who made him. The poems are brutal, blackly comic, and possessed of a terrifying vitality, each one a small detonation. The language is stripped to sinew and bone, Anglo-Saxon in its bluntness, shamanistic in its repetitions. Crow eats, laughs, blunders through apocalypse after apocalypse, too stupid or too tenacious to die. This is poetry as survival mechanism, as defiance flung at a universe that answers every question with another wound.