THE ALCHEMIST (Issue 1)

By STEVE DENEHAN

I was a boy when we met 

and he
had just a year or two 

left in him 

no common ground 

at first
until he pointed
at the paintings 

on the walls 

my eyes widened 

his smile did too 

I painted but he 

was a painter 

he showed me his brushes 

his palette knives
his easel
showed me how 

he mixed his colours 

even gold 

he wrote them out
the colours, the quantities
on an uncrumpled piece of paper 

so that I might make
my own gold 

I tried and tried again

giving up eventually 

accepting that the magic 

was not in me 

a few weeks later
I saw him again
he handed me a small glass jar 

gold, liquid gold 

on the drive home
I cupped it in my hands 

entranced by the light
it generated
from within itself
I never could bring myself 

to use it
precious as it was
it is still around somewhere