Leaning And Sweating

Sometimes,
I let myself believe
I matter,

then the wind comes.
I lean away from it
just a little,

and then the sun forces
a hat onto my head 
merely by shining,

so I resolve to be quiet
and insignificant,
just another part of the world

working my small practice.
If it matters, it will matter.
What I do, I do because

I was made to —
what work is mine to do
was given to me,

and the importance
of me to the work
is as incidental as the sweat

on my brow is to the sun:
something to be wiped off,
a distraction.