at the edge of the forest, we understand that the forest never ends. from one tree to the next across the street, roadkill's cross-section removes a highway carved through their organ and says “i give to you a piece of my road, a piece of my road to tie us in time." it becomes unattached like a drop of rain that was a body or a symbol or a direction to find itself to you. you take it for your own, freely. between the dripping and the drying are the bodies before they were logs before they were doors and after they were trees. but before we are "we", we must rot to feed our kin, we know we will become ancient again.