The Alchemist

I'm calling on all my philosophies,
old and new
to get me through this night.

I'll work in the lead
if I can't get the gold;
lead is as gold.

I'll come to peace
with the matter of my love,
remembering just the warmth
of her body.

The stars bleed away
their juices in the night,
the dangerous blue lights of
an ambulance
creep into my mind.
If she calls now
it will only be to tell me
why she can't see me.

See, she made up her mind,
spread it out like a fan in a hand,
slipped away on a skate
with sails.

I'm still finding
poems I wrote to her
A note saying 'I will slay
the only dragon'
showed up yesterday.

The lead may be as gold,
but she is responsible for
this sudden whirl of seasons,
resulting in strange
and perplexing snows.