It’s the one certainty—And so elicits
imagination. At that moment
does the mind shrink to a marble?
Or does all hard-won knowledge
compress into stew—a smorgasbord
of mashed memories with excess cortisol?
What we knew until the jilt in the brain
turned its gears, churning, inflamed
your cells’ final grind to a Stop—
Like a wheel with a stuck rod
in its spoke? A minute-long stroke
overthrowing binaural beats?
Time to turn off the whole
discombobulation of you—
who you were, what you loved….
Oh, chalice of raindrops, organic
compounds, smudge of frankincense,
tinseled dominions—here’s the one altar
you’d take a knee for—your lyrical
hymn written to Him, his glittering
saints and winged Seraphim….
Maybe then—in their song
you’ll recall after all
this hard-earthen-living—
you were one of them all along.

This article appears in July/August 2025.