Nate Maxson
 
 Illuminated Manuscript
 
This firecracker spark traveling on a wick to ignition
This window encroached by frost at the edges of the frame
These objects we wish on in silence
The shooting star
The dandelion seedpod
The plucked eyelash
All into the wind
Because what is a prayer?
But a redshift expansion of omens and signs into the drift
Coins for the dead/ over the eyes/ a burial rite
Like the distant grinding of an interstate highway
Have you ever not heard it?
This temporary machinery
Electrified by breath
My body is an obvious riddle
A candidate for dissolution
The lighting struck moment of a kingfisher snatching its prey from the water
A meticulously fitted space where the light will go

Nate Maxson is a writer and performance artist. He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.