The Last Nimbus

A nebula forms around my headboard
& congeals—a pulsating fathom’s roost.

A blinding white flash—
great speedwell & arrowhead fall.

Encrusted like the lotus-eaters—
incubated / intubated / spacesuited /
pillows backboned.

A pair of florins for eyewear—
now set for the passage /
I pass out the last saint’s
nimbus.

“Some say we are living at the end of time,
But I believe a thousand pagan ministers
Will arrive tomorrow to baptize the wind.”

—Robert Bly / “Living at the End of Time”