
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”