This poem is an epigram. It's about an ancient craftsman making some sort of magic charm. It's really a metaphor for poetry itself.
To stay anxiety I engrave this gold,
Shaping an amulet whose edges hold
A little space of order: where I find,
Suffused with light, a dwelling for the mind.
from New and Collected Poems (Carcanet, 2012), © Clive Wimer 2012, used by permission of the author and the publisher