Until Your Work Is Done 
for Geof, in breath and ritual

Stay,  
not because the world is gentle,  
but because your hands  
still remember how to hold.

Stay,  
not for applause,  
but for the silence  
that follows a well-placed word.

Your work is not a task—  
it is the way you breathe  
when someone needs air.  
It is the pause  
you offer  
when grief forgets its name.

You are not finished.  
The earth still leans  
toward your voice,  
still opens  
when you walk.

So stay,  
until the last thread  
is woven,  
until the last sigh  
becomes a hymn.

Then rest.  
But not yet.