He unstepped the mast and furled the sail and tied it. Then he shouldered the mast and started to climb. It was then he knew the depth of his tiredness. He stopped for a moment and looked back and saw in the reflection from the street light the great tail of the fish standing up well behind the skiff's stern. He saw the white naked line of his backbone and the dark mass of the head with the projecting bill and all the nakedness between.
He started to climb again and at the top he fell and lay for some time with the mast across his shoulder. He tried to get up. But it was too difficult and he sat there with the mast on his shoulder and looked at the road. A cat passed on the far side going about its business and the old man watched it. Then he just watched the road.
April has been quite a ride. Almost 30 days of events for the Great Lakes Poetry Festival. Plus, some personal struggles with my son at school. And I have to say, on this last day of the month, I am bone weary, to the point of fever dream exhaustion. I wouldn't be surprised if I start hallucinating.
Worked a few hours this morning, in preparation for my vacation next week. Now, I am doing my final grading. Papers. Exams. I have until Tuesday to get everything done. It's going to be a long few days.
Saint Marty's koan for tonight: if you fall down in the street on your way home, finish grading that stack of papers.
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