Steel Sometimes
Bends
Errant heat sparks the clashing
clatter of tea cart trays, straining
rail spikes, ties to
cement casing, careful poured:
how still, how silent, all,
but for those first unfelt tremors:
wheel turning once too fast, too often
a day, running ice cooled to
crevice shape, inching degrees imperceptible
until a swift stroke comes to bear.
But this was a metaphor, and now you
are “art”,
and I'd ask how it feels to be heat,
to inhabit steel,
but if you are so sincere,
I thought you'd hung the stars,
angled lunar shimmer so well, too.
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