Sunday Poem

Assume the Milk-White

bodies of agate. Draw close the bones of this biddable metal:
………. chalice & ingot, gilt saints on cypress planks,

Agamemnon’s mask unearthed. Sulfur & salt: the alchemist’s
………. scarred hands. Think men upon their knees

before the riverbed for that Black Hills silt, that sluice
………. long girdled in the zigzag crack. O

that lucre. The worshipful company’s murderous guilds—
………. It’s too late now to look away from that bright flame,

too late to take the value back from filigree
………. or sacred blade, ransom-gilded Seric, idol,

from hidden trove or gently beaten fleece. South
………. of Ulaanbaatar cranes decorate the skyline.

In the Congo children work the pit shifts. Mercury & silica
………. will grace the margins of each living membrane’s

tender stem & inch of lymph. All flesh thus tempered,
………. thus fixed in the mine’s dark mouth.

Ûdwr. Meaning divine water.
………. Physika kai mystica: the secret things.

Our guide in Potosí lighting his cigar with dynamite:
………. “No se preocupe, trabajo par Sendero Luminoso!” Hands

cupping the bright flame. Tracing the halo.
………. The hoards turned up by English plowmen, amulets

in shafts along the overpass. Shields beaten thin
………. & dropped unearthly to your brokerage screen, leverage

on the scale of equity. Percolated, according to Theophilus,
………. from vinegar, red copper, human blood & ash of basilisk.

by Amy Beeder

Ezra Pound, “The Alchemist”