Scarecrow At Low Tide

A voice/ is a light/ is a flower: in the act of opening
I am what remains/ I am what washes up on the shore
Firmament is only torn alight where the sky poured in
When there is no water/ I remain/ with my back to the sea
Crow-quiet, head tilting in the sun
There’s no body bag fast enough to catch me with my eyes closed

Nate Maxson is writer and performance artist. The author of several collections of poetry, he lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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