The Magician

Equipment’s ready: burner on,

Test tubes out, chemicals prepared;

My elements are marching pawns

To help me order chaos—dare

Frame a creation in strict lines

Looking unreal as clouds can be

Because the details are too fine:

They’re fallen drops of mercury

Exploding on the classroom floor

Vanished somewhere—to limbo streams

Of non-existent waiting or

To strands of web, forgotten meme.

The beasts—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—

Bellow fire, water, earth, and air

To fuel my furnace for divine

Blows from Mjöllnir.  With Thor’s brawn

My brain expands but does not tear

As new forms merge from old decline.

The Ravens watch—from Odin’s Tree—

The Coin turn Cup and Wand turn Sword,

While I, Magician, hiss to seem

To speak, and smile my work to see:

Another room, another door

To build a Palace in your dreams.