The anvil sang before the hammer fell
A frequency that only silence knows
The furnace breathed its heat in quiet swell
And shaped the metal where the fire flows
Your voice arrived like sparks along the chain
Each word a strike that bent the iron true
I held the weight of every tempered refrain
And watched the edges glow a deeper blue
The workshop hums with things we have not said
The tools are hanging in their proper place
A quiet discipline of flame and thread
That draws the outline of a hidden face
I stood beside the bellows through the night
It breathed in rhythm with your steady pace
The temperature was neither wrong nor right
Just warm enough to fill the empty space
The cooling trough reflected shifting skies
A mirror made of water mixed with soot
I saw the truth behind your careful eyes
The one that stands unbent and absolute
Each ring of metal holds a different tone
The chime sustains long after it is struck
I wear the quiet like a second bone
A strength that never needed to be rushed
