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.