Alchemy

pour transformer lead to roses we stretch our breath to brittle glass where quivers our last words already turned to salt in the orbit of impossible we open a crack into that zone where words ignite melt back into their primal elements thinking this is gathering then begins interventions of light to raise new gold from our language

I have a weak spot for crucibles, 3-day beards, muscular executive functions, crow's feet, mouth-shut mastication, "project" lovers, correct cutlery handling, the cresting of infatuation, that neverspace where gold shimmers out of reach