Saturday, December 1, 2012



Alchemy, from long ago
when rivers still innocently flowed,
when we still looked for philosopher's stone,
and if found,
what would be crawling under unearthed belly?

And those that whispered,
to the directions 4,
or listened to the hawk's wings,
for the right signs, for ingredients to be chosen,
to expose and delight in the elixir of life.

That is life's promise,
that resembles the wind,
that is the spark and that which gives the sparkle,
we might turn lead into gold and defy death's rattle.

The earth,
where the plant kingdom lives.
The air,
where our dreams compete with the clouds.
The sun shimmers and the moon glimmers,
and the sky is a canvas for the wind.

We did not discover fire, 
but learned to tame it, 
use it and fear it.

And the rain,
water is the gentlest of powerful substances, 
it carves rock and mountain tops, 
washes wounds and baths and baptizes and bubbles and froths and freezes and quenches.

Dry like the desert, 
moist like a coffee cake 
hot like a frying pan 
cold like a serial killer. 

If only we were magicians or there was magic, 
ah the thought of miracles: 
that one form of matter, 
no matter what its make-up, 
could be changed into another. 
That with our might and hubris blind delight
We could alter the proportions from tall to small or 
long to short or 
tiny to extravagant.

In the end you are my alchemy, 
you stop my thirst, 
from small to large, 
If love is a fabric of the universe,
and if the universe is really infinity,
then our love will live forever on this plain or that other realm 
and you are my elixir.

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