For philosophers, alchemy owns the fleeting
dreams, those ever fleeing fugitives of hope,
which seek sanctuary in the Midas hearts.
It has been fabled as a door, but the forsaken
have time on their hands, and have argued
against it. It could be a window, but who
would take the time to look out of all
the windows of the world?
it is the sand in the sky and the desire in the desert;
it is the air in the sea that carries to your silhouette
from where you stand atop a mountain and linger
and softly, softly, it breathes into your open hand.
It is the echo of when god was man
and the promise of when he will be again.