Glass cases set in symmetry
along the center aisle, a promenade
points of light, sparking from velvet–
nested gems and metals.
Underfoot are small black tiles
octagons within the squares of white,
decades-softened, often tread.
The aisle ends and to the right
a whirr within, a waft of solder.
At the bench of oak and iron,
needle nose and emery mandels.
Brushes tangle, burr sets fight
with hammers, bezels and crystal faces,
the jeweler’s workings of magnified worlds.
There he sat between semesters,
before the war, before the jungle
my father’s hands his watchful eye
balanced time, sized the bands
marked the movements, ticks and tocks.
At the counter timid faces, wondrous eyes
beheld the bands of platinum promise,
signet swirls and chains of gold.
His settings held their celebrations,
gems of weight and implication.
A ring of rings, a circle of circles
Tinkling vestige of artisan time
my passage of ring sizes, three, seven, eight
I finger them now, I number my life
I count as a rosary, his ring of rings.