Seeking Alchemy, Finding None

I reached for you at Moss Glen Falls
And strange it was to see the mist
With lichen underneath
As if some wizard's vapor trail
Might touch the souls of lovers there.

Your sudden shadow moves me
And just as suddenly
Your cold cream hands fetch a stone
Left muddied with Indian Summer,
Curved and worn too much to hone
Among initial-heartened trees.

"Let's then return," I say, "to etch
Our love on altars of ice
With this soft and easy piece"

While you, pre-occupied,
Wash your hands of it
And wipe your come hither worldly jeans.