August passes summer on
But September, September,
Death is in the air.
Summer’s life ceases.
Cold winds bring dread
October old and dry but burning red,
Bringing new life
O alchemy, you are the test and
Measure for me. You tried but did not
Turn, base metal into gold, but I
Have turned a paper plate of virgin
White, into a rite of fire, far
Richer than your dreams of avarice
Could ever desire.
O paper plate you are transformed, transform
Me too, from base material with fire
To something burning with desire, to be
Beautiful like you.