Midst of a Burning Fiery Furnace

Let the foundries burn the whole city then.
Black the edges and the brazen joints.
Let the salamander sleep in his well of flame.
Because the worst has happened, and yet
so much more remains to be burnt,
smelt and milled and cast. These remains.
Suppose this blistered city would smolder
well after all those who live by the blast
of the furnace have left themselves to ash.
Thave heard of that alchemy of steel—
1am familiar with the dying arts. Let them burn
the dark night livid, my poor republic
of ingot and slag. I am also seething
in my depths, I too have come to forge.