Alchemist Fingerprints

Chosen roses settled in a handmade ceramic vase.
Homemade earthen meals waiting in fired clay bowls.
Vegetables steaming in disappearing hot water.
Cut crystal prisms of ice melting in a pitcher.
Kneaded baked bread birthing through the oven door.

Sleeping in Victorian homes with quilted window tapestries,
heat rising from rattling radiators with nowhere to go.
Natural wooden doors with open tree eyes
study our souls, human sea anemones
moving above an imagined ocean floor.

Walks to museums guarded by marble stone lions.
Visits to local art galleries, peacocks strutting on sidewalks,
poking at window panes without breaking the glass.

Stepping toward stone tea houses.
Sharing a warm handled mug of brewed flowers,
tea leaves floating in an immersed liberating cage,
organic scents flowing over our focused faces.

Looking for shooting stars in cloudless night skies.
Reaching for distant crayon-colored rainbows
after a thunderous daylight rain storm.

Going on long walks on both marked and unmarked trails.
Listening to courtyard music surrounded by sturdy old brick walls.
Attending foreign films in uncrowded theaters, sharing a box of popcorn.

Our changing hands touch each day.
Remembering moments that we held together.
Alchemist fingerprints, not needing gold.