He hears the clanging echo of hammers on the anvil
and understands it to be the tintinnabulation of man’s achievement.
A world malleable to his tools,
he can look up to the heavens
and warm in its pittering light.
“Invincible” he repeats,
believing to be part of the world of bronze,
but he has forgotten himself;
he is only a plaster of flesh
melting in the artist’s crucible.