The Morning Smith

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Morning stillness,

a breath,

the world exhaling.

Barely peeking sun

gifts think light

to the grass

and peeping through

the windows

wakes

the Smith. 

He hauls himself 

from bed

a stained shirt

strains

over his bulging arms.

He steps heavy

to the forge,

stoking

yesterday's embers. 

Fumes 

of melting steel

and the crashing,

heavy hammer

shatters stillness.

The world breathes fire and smoke. 


 

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Tasmania, 7000. 

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