as the body winds down
can be killing but meanwhile
in the backyard and in sleep
the soul scrubs and caulks the hull
of the small fishing skiff
it will sail into the sea of stars
it sews closed the mainsail’s holes
and stows the frayed spinnaker
of the heart in its place under the bow
for the day the light will carry it
out to the dark harbors of the moon
to meet with old teachers and friends
to rest and get ready for the right night
to strike its final passage to the sun
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