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  • Lately the days are like nights
    (with just a little more light)
    but the edges are so blurred
    that it would take a mathematician
    with a cosmic ruler
    to draw the line.
    But this is not a time for lines,
    distinctions of things,
    of formalities
    This is a time for shadow
    and things that appear solid (but aren't).
    Here, mathematicians are scorned
    for their ridiculous attempts at discernment.
    For what need is there for discernment
    when there is no this for that
    or me for you?
    (We are all just dressing up anyway,
    even if Halloween is already over).

    What would sleep look like if it awoke?
    What would day look like
    if it sneaked into night's bedroom
    through the back door?
    What would you look like if I saw you
    in the light of day?

    But there is no day, at least not the kind I am used to.
    Nothing is solid except the rain
    which pours as if it has been holding
    back for all eternity,
    waiting for its grand entrance in the seasonal play,
    waiting for its giant sob.

    It feels like relief, this rain on my face.
    The rain and I both are so relieved.

    The season of light and dark is over!
    It is grey, it is grey, it is grey!
    Oh glorious Grey! I cannot praise you enough
    even though I have railed against you
    and pounded my fists into your vagueness
    quivering with demands for you to be
    just a little more

    But rain isn't solid is it?
    Rain is wet and slippery and melts on your tongue.
    And this is a sleepy time anyway,
    when we are given permission to be a little less awake.

    So I will go back to bed for a little while
    and when I wake
    it will look just the same.
    I will put on my rain-boots
    and step out into the
    dream that is day.
    When I tire,
    night will have already found me
    and all I'll have to do
    is surrender into sleep
    without once looking at the clock.
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