After a withering wet head night
tossed by fevered dreams and allegories
settled humors and existential parsers
I bolted upright, coughed, turn left
and whispered a word I had forgotten.
This unveiling, this apocalypse, this revelation
swam with Saint Paul to snake island
where a fire brand proved his faith
idylls of his everlasting king, pierced
like the prow of a bark skimming Uranus’ sky.
I coached myself to remain awake,
find a notepad and pen and write it down
but fell back to sleep instead.