November Alchemy

Poem by Susan Spilecki

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— for M

The wash of flames in your fireplace appears
liquid, gold rising and falling in waves, very like
the heat I feel in your arms, your heat and mine
mixing, stirring, rising into a warm new thing,
my leaden heart slowly crystalizing into a whole
new element, after melting down into a puddle of
heavy grey, heated to the core after decades,
weighted down and forever dragging myself
through my days until this moment, this chilly
day warmed by the fire you started, the flames
we feed together, two faggots of wood sizzling
and rising up to warm not just themselves but all
the air in the room, our skin, your fingers on my arm,
my tentative lips on your jawline and your neck,
while outside a beaver moon hangs like a circle
of silver, balanced on a sliver of star as the year