Quiet Work

You break. Against this ocean you break. And little significant things become big significant things. You are a horse alone on a hill. You are a tree. You go near and far but nothing gathers on you. You will not be the lone hero that saves everyone at the end of the story. You might be the quiet worker that saves the orphan. You are the orphan. You bellow out your sounds and they slap you back. Echoes in the night, in the inviolate dark. You whisper to yourself: a little chant for the world. Yet you cause ripples that won’t easily smooth away. You cause them and you put your hands in water and your hands are the water. It's like you were told, at the beginning, by your own self: you break against this ocean. There is no overwhelming moment. It happens without your knowing. You are your hands. Then the horizon. Then the sea.