Once, like you, I aspired to great ends,
time was forever, the body fresh, second
only to my ripe mind swelling, aswim
in oxygen, blood pumped through wings
though wind was all that I needed
to stay aloft, above the fray,
at hover in the rarefied.

Now I am caught in downdraft without lift,
in rapid descent, anticipating
the final touch of earth on skin,
of rock on bone.

Fatigue is quite different than ennui.
Together they are overwhelming.

Chagall 2018

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