XXII

Myths begin to come together, musically,
segues forming links in a finely wrought chain.

To steal the secrets of shaping iron I slipped back into the city.
Seeking apprenticeship, initiation into secrets of the craft.

Another winter in Northern Michigan
trying to build a soul out of iron & steel.

Thunder in the clamor of the hammer on the anvil,
lightning in the glare of steel sparks flying.

In the arc of the hammer, a free swinging grace.
There is power in the forging as the iron takes shape.

Bells are cast in bronze or iron, come
to know the hammer only after they are done.

I wanted to sculpt The Smith in glass, one perilous curve from shin
to sledge, full crescent one second from the shattering blow.

I sought to give shape to living process, an archetypal system
of constellated icons, revealing relationships in open space.

A man can learn volumes about space
from the placement of a single stone.