Contact Hilary.
The Anvils Are Restless
and ramble out
onto the main road
rumbling the moonlight
their square hooves slow
as handwriting
deliberate as ice
in older times
they roamed more freely
in greater numbers
were less guarded
and so were we
scarred with chiselmarks
scorched with hope
anvils remember everything
every thing that they have
ever made
every blow and ring
and we
will make everything
or we say we will
or we want to
or we want to say
we will
make everything
out of everything
seamless and heavy
tender hammerblows
ringing bright as stone
anvils live for two hundred
or three hundred years
if they live at all
if they aren’t captured
during the dark times
confiscated and rendered
into arms
that was a long time ago
tonight
they are skittish
and on the move
making a break for it
they angle swaybacked
down the main road
swinging their great horns
from side to side
their breath
cool as smoke
the scent of something
tenderly uncertain
on the air