Far from the decisions of great men,

he stands at the center

of his unheard thunder and fire,

fabricating airy chrysanthemums

from blocks of steel for a woman

who touched his cheek ten years ago, and left.

Roses from rage, Babies Breath

like delicate redemption pounded from harsh fact,

he offers the hard flowers of his silence,

an uncorroded bouquet

outlasting sorrow or aspiration.