Looking Out the Window at Work
This time when the rainy season came
a gray blanket, the sound of passing cars kicking up water
I felt old. Not tired, weary or spent. Not bored.

Rather, this: I'd been around a long time
knew the routine well now,
shifting into the depth of winter.

Shallow and unassuming, for the most part,
I concede, on the valley floor
where little pools and nothing slides.

But warm sunshine, here our raison d'etre,
was now gone, absent forever,
until it would be revelatory.