for a morsel of life

sometime ago
I wrote a poem
on hunger,
the hunger I knew -
the hunger of eyes
always searching
for something
among cracks,
the hunger of hearts
yawning and closing
to be filled
and emptied,
the hunger of skin
baring itself
to be stroked
to its sensibility,
and the hunger of spirit
smitten by a delirium
of la la land,

until I came upon
this hunger -
of hands
sold to the soul,
itching to work,
to feed stomachs
churning,
calling,
for a morsel of life
lived simply,
with grace,
and an impeccable devotion
to what gives,
to what is -
their lives.

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.

Being in the Business of Life

We are born
to live,
and we live
to die,
to be born again...
What we do in between
is our own business -
Mine.
And yours.
How we go about it
is up to each of us.
If on this journey
and this business of Life,
we do meet in passing,
let us shake hands,
give each other a hug,
and greet each other
with a knowing smile -
that all is well
and exactly how it should be;
Let us mind our own business
and walk along
or walk away,
holding love in our hearts.