Apocalypse

by James Sutherland-Smith

A trinity of stalks of wheatgrass,
An unblown dandelion head
Lean from a bottle of darkly seen through glass.

A butterfly — a sort of Admiral,
White, Poplar or even Red
Quivers in a box reserved for rare mineral.

An adder folded like a necklace
For the throats of the better bred
Stirs in a jar that stored long grain rice.

These are manifested on planks of deal
In a pattern of light and shade.
The keeper of these signs reveals

Perfection in the blankness of his face
While he dreams of last things foretold by a maid
Unkissed, but through whom all things shall come to pass.