It's an exact art; to cheat two types of steel

to turn them to face one another then heat,

hammer and heat. To fold and fold again:

eight times, sixteen times over. There,

it starts to feel—in its united heart—

that it is strong, light, supple, hard.

So flexible this silver tongue, this collusion

of men and metals. Now it acts as though

it were always one. Cooled too quick

to rethink its false society of parts. I could tell

how the air rings when the sword slices through.

The sound: true. The balance true, and the shine

too—which was two weeks’ work.