The poem is only a few lines long, but it packs in a strange, restless picture of someone who can't stop working. The speaker is in bed, a place for rest, yet "I continue working." The first line, "wrought in bed," is ambiguous. "Wrought" suggests something shaped or hammered into being, so the bed becomes a kind of workshop, and perhaps the speaker's own body or mind is what's being worked on.
The second pair of lines gives two images for how the speaker sees themselves: "a fire in the wind" and "a used tool." One is wild and burning, maybe about to be blown out or spread out of control. The other is dull and worn, something picked up and put down again and again. The two sit uneasily together, as if the speaker feels both intense and exhausted.
The mood is tired, driven, and a little uneasy. There's pride in the energy of the fire, but also a quiet sense of being spent, of a creature who keeps going because that's what it does.