The days are no better Poem by Elly de Waard

The days are no better
than expected, they are too hot
and between my two hands nothing
is being forged; only under the stars

in the smithy of the night, that
has stiffened into a rain of sparks
the moon, Hephaestos' last
work, glints in the fragments on the wall

like fireflies and bats
fluttering to and fro, servants,
sweeping the dark floor of the
firmament and the little stream

calmly purls the curls out,
a cooling passtime, only
noticed in attentiveness;
I feel clear now and strong.