THE SILVERSMITH
My father sits before his forge
melting bars of silver
and turning them
into silver raindrops
and silver cloud designs.
Somehow,
my father has caught the wind
within his bellows
and when he lets it go
its breath
turns the silver
to red earth color.
Its breath cools the silver
until it is hard
like something made
of gray water
and then turned to stone.
Today my father sang
as he worked
at making a bracelet
for my arm.
His song
flowed into the silver circle
making it a circle of song.