In this sullen practice
of mine is the root of
happiness.
If you must ask
why it is therefore called
a sullen art,
understand that I practice it
knowing that any happiness
that may grow from it
will only rarely
be my own
yet I sit myself down
and work at it daily,
pounding on dark metals
to make brightwork
from them
that others will look at
and rejoice in
after I’m gone.
No, there’s no why beyond
how much it needs doing; no,
there’s no explaining how it chooses
its apprentices; no, there’s not much
to recommend it as a lifestyle
beyond that potential for
making joy for others and
slight immortality. No,
there’s no reason to become
a brightworker in words,
other than the impossibility
of becoming anything else.
Dark Matter 