Brittle knuckles stuffed in dark khakis,
Doors swung and blindness meets the eye.
Somewhere out there he is looking,
Hope glimmers in the sky.
Breath billows turn to crystals,
There is not a soul around.
Somewhere warmth beats closer,
Hope suddenly makes a sound.
Brushed by the wrath of Boreas,
Hephaestus pulsates from below.
Somewhere she is waiting,
Hope he now must know.