Flicker

I saw a flicker at the window today. A flash
of orange, hornet in his beak. He looked
at me, and bit his catch in two. We paused
a moment at the glass, considering
what creature moved upon the other side
lifting the wings or arms the Lord has made
for flight--
                  or in my case, but to adjust
the curtain for a better view of him
at which movement he fled with his two wings.

Forged

Because the men had work they meant

to do, they pulled two strips of metal

from a wall

in back of an old church

(surely no use to anyone there)

and carted them back

and laid them flat

on their anvil. One of these

had come without much prying. It lay

still, eager to be hammered

 to forceps

or a wheel. The other piece

had taken a great portion of an hour

to wrench free; mayhap it had thought

the wall its destiny. This one had bent

a little in the struggle. Thus it lay

at angles with the anvil, on its side

and seemed to tremble as the hammer rose

and quiver as it fell.

The blows were swift

and unrelenting blows. The men

knew what they were about, and soon

the first had taken their desired shape.

They set it to its task, and turned again

to straightening the other for the same.

They put it in the fire for a bit.

The room was dark. The crooked metal lit

a small place on the anvil, where it writhed

as though it felt

the heat, and feared

to feel the blow.

                     How hard it was to shape. The anvil rang

and rang and rang and still the metal bent

and twisted every way

but which they meant. The sparks

flew up like hundredfolds of dying stars.

Perhaps they beat too much upon one side,

because at last it folded

on itself. And when they sought to beat it out

again, it cracked along the flaw,

shuddered,

and snapped. The crack was long.

The metal was too weak.

            Ah, well, the men said. It was our mistake.

The flaws were in its core. A solid rod

is what we ought to use. We'll start again

with good materials. With this they tossed

the broken halves into the dust

outside.

They waited there a good part of a year,

brittle with weather and the rust that grew

with every rain, until a Hand that knew

its work took hold:

plucked them from the ground

carried them home

laid them by its fire

felt them over closely for each flaw

lowered them into the hottest flame

placed them on the anvil end to end

hammered evenly on every side

fused the ends together into one

and when the room was still, the metal too

was quiet, resting, ready 

to be shaped.