HEPHAESTUS
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.