Arthur Seefahrt
Alchemy, ii
When I thought I was a stone again
you moved my hands to frame stars
and after careful leafy scrutiny
we found only an asteroid
in my eighth and roofless house
and though you are a fine instructor
I still know nothing of death
You tell me on the bridge
in the lesser hall of the forest
that it is your house
and to determine my path out of the ninth house
there is a ritual you say
tear pages from your favorite novel
and drop them to the water
stop on page 13 or 77
and chart their constellation along the bank
I say my books are too important
and take off your clothes
At the top of the steps
outside the tenth house
I realize gazing in the first floor window
that this is a repurposed library
and that I have been puppeting this ritual
every day for over a decade
There are rooftiles scattered around
the gardens outside the tenth house
I slip a red piece into my pocket
It is hard like cold wax
it is the color behind your lips
when you scattered my bones about your nest
I need to go to the eleventh house
Want to come with
It bobs off the end of the peer
chained to the pilings of
our collective islands
There are nine of them
each one has a woman’s name
anchored like star clusters
in the greenness of nightsea
Sofas made of cage raised fish bones
lamps guaranteed to fail
a flaming sword guards the exit
so you can never leave without buying in
They swear us both in at the twelfth house
and even do the blood test
it doesn’t matter though America is so big
that I will never not find you
The twelfth house climbs
from the white salt of the airport
My stolen moodring turns orange
will you embrace me yet?
The twelfth house I built
as tower with words there
only to realize it is a wall
