the alchemist’s fire

masculine principles
strike
at the center

feminine principles
veiled
from without

he muttered to himself
as he mixed
his compound

alone

bedraggled
through his own neglect

filled
with hunger

yet
unaware of being
hungry

of the last time
he had eaten

masculine …

center …

feminine …

with the last
mutter

the last
ingredient

the last mixing

pounding

stirring

he applied
a flame

and
as the material
reacted
the compound
quickened

a sinuous plume
of grey

white

blue

smoke

rose
languorously

twisting
around itself

seeming to

pause

for a moment

before twirling away
higher
then
dissipating

he stood still

silent

gazing
at what had been

felt himself
in awe

perhaps
in live

before the crackling sound
rising from the beaker
reminded him
of work
still to be done

for the first time
in days
he felt …

ravenous

yes

soon
he must eat

~

Poem #356 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

6 thoughts on “the alchemist’s fire

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