The Alchemist of Time

I am a dreamer reflected in a gazing globe, never far from the moon.

The Alchemist of Time


The Alchemist of Time

is thrumming in my blood

slowing down

a clock

I never knew was overwound.

I’d like to keep my dross

as I grow old,

but the Alchemist of Time

has drawn a cross

and told

me–my life is not my own–

She stirs me in a beaker made of glass

heated by the most


Bunsen burner—flare and jet of gas–

I am a drifting veil of steam


Into the final light of gold.

-Sandrina Eugenius

3 Replies to “The Alchemist of Time”

  1. This beaker of glass
    cannot contain us —
    We push right past
    its limitations, our
    fortifications and
    our imaginations showing
    the universe, spinning,
    ever so slowly, as we
    dance to a muse of our
    own making.


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