My Work

I go to work
just like you do;
but not to glass-walled cabins
behind closed doors,
or rooms full of people
meeting eyes
and shaking hands
in a distilled moment,
over things
to be struck off a list;

I go to work
to where the skies open and close
day after day,
to where the breath is born and dies
with every dream dreamed
and shattered,
to where my being fills
and empties itself
of everything that flows into
yet another gorgeous day;

I go to work
just like you do;
but not when
the clock turns and strikes;
I go to work
when my heart calls me
to come and sit beside her
and listen,
to her silence
and her song.