No dawn has crossed this waste for years, Ash settles where the noon should burn. My joints seize cold; the grid runs thin, I brace my hands and make them turn. The broken wait beside my door, Their failing cores still ticking slow. I test the heat, I change the draw, I need the right strength for the load. I work the forge till one form holds, Too soft, it bends; too hard, it breaks. I shape the metal, test the seam, For every life these hands can save. No sun to guide us through the grit, No shelter promised, none to spare. I build the parts that keep us moving; We live because we learn to repair. I vary carbon, quench, and time, Then strike the sample on the stone. One edge chips clean; one twists in heat, One bears the strain and keeps its tone. I mark each trial with a notch, A record cut where none can fade. The wasteland takes what fails its test; The good becomes the next machine. A shoulder joint, a pump, a hand, A housing fitted close and true. I turn the dial, I watch the color, Then make a shape that carries through. I work the forge till one form holds, Too soft, it bends; too hard, it breaks. I shape the metal, test the seam, For every life these hands can save. No sun to guide us through the grit, No shelter promised, none to spare. I build the parts that keep us moving; We live because we learn to repair. A voice returns from a rebuilt chest, A name I thought the dust had claimed. The current stirs; the fingers close. I hear my own in that small change. I am no master of the flame, Just one more frame that must endure. If I can find the alloy fit, Our circle may survive the storm. The last trial cools beneath my hands, Its surface scarred, its core intact. I fit the piece; the gears engage, And hold the weight the old one lacked. I save the measure, save the mold, For those who come with fractures next. The sun stays gone. The work goes on. We keep each other from the wreck. I found the form that finally holds, Not made by luck, but trial and care. I shape the metal, test the seam, And give my kin a chance to spare. No sun to guide us through the grit, No shelter promised, none to spare. I build the parts that keep us moving; We live because we learn to repair. When morning fails to find this place, Our hands will still be working here. One tested piece, one mended friend, A little longer in the air.
