Alchemist

At the top of the stair Is the Alchemist's Lair
But you may find
Nothing there
The whisp of a whisper
The pray of a prayer
A split deck spinning solitaire
A venerable vintage, old and rare
Caught in crystal whirled in air
A candle’s breath, that bright hot flare
Then suddenly . . . . There is nothing there

The students come and they prepare
Declare, compare, become aware
Then return to earth back down the stair
Leaving a mystery they cannot forswear
Leaving a shadow in the empty chair
An Alchemist in the Alchemist’s Lair . . .
Weaving golden verse from the empty air . . .

©Edwina Peterson Cross