Jared's father was a welder

he had a gun cabinet of wrought iron and wood   born of his coarse, shadowed hands and the fire he held   born
of one who reached into hell for its heat then flung it from his fingertips into the cold metal he employed   born
of one whose eyes were fire behind the dark glass of his helmet --  a black knight from a brazen world

he was a man to fear     this faceless encounter who
   rose from cellars with his smoking gloves   who
built our pipelines   who
healed our plows and tractors   who
tempted our eyes to sightlessness

(for he would shine his fierce blue light and one's eyes
would dart to it and away     then back     until
one had to run away or stare at it and be blinded)

that flame was God's     and maybe Satan's too
   but Jared's father could hold it
   could guard it from behind his black hood as

it made the iron writhe and curl until there was a gun cabinet you could touch