Foundries

metalwork of past years, past
purpose, repurposed, hefted,
heavy-shouldered, to new
uses, to engage our eyes
with their inventive winks
at the fires of the foundries,
the spark of liquid iron not done yet,
and all the water in
the world cannot dim their brightness

the worth of the smith
resolved, rejoined to make new
the creation born out
of dust, the ribbed
metal, a heap of bones
made into a
singular race of
creatures such as you
have never seen
or will see again

linking an industrial past to
a vision of the future, shaping
what is to,
what will be, rising, again,
skywards,
ever headed for that blue plain above
of heaven and stars
ever bursting to make
greater, even brighter stars,

and the sparks from your
hammer illuminate the
night, lighting the path,
resolute, unbending