Alchemisland

That hungry hound expectant stare, staring upstairs toward the landing

The North room of his master

Where a single lantern acts as day’s ward, a pale flaming sword sought to frame the familiar male face smilingly descending 

A palm upraised frustrates the canine’s ascent, but he has the scent

His Lord’s proper actions thwart direction’s need

Stooping to haunches clasps the hound’s jowl

Planting a wet kiss on his mouth

Feeling against his cheek the wet, insistent snout

Desperate now to go out, the dog looks from owner to door from door to owner

Forceful, rage-conveying rain spilling contemptuously from a God’s half-drained tankard

Raised in cheers before the Dionysian bearer became delirious

A clear and subtle fluid, some rune-stewed cloud brew; in appearance kin to skylike ice

Yet in production maintaining fire’s remit

Studying the alchemical procedures, galling triptychs occulting a chemical rebus

Stirring all worts into the vessel until shortly the admix warps to reapergarb black

Lazy droplets of Big Mac-fattened rain spatter silverspill on purple satin

Hissing like a snakepit at some unfortunate adventurer’s clumsy crash in

Here I am, happy with my owner

Here we are, between traffic cones

Wet as privated priests, living feastless on Iona.