a/n: Too little sleep, too much thinking. Look for an update in a few days.

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Tangibility

A man staring,
lifeless, at the dawn;
eluded by sleep once again

The sun lies liquid in the
Loch -- reflected, nothing more than a
mirror image, imitating

Should we believe in it, simply because our eyes can trace it across the sky? (wouldn't that mean the reflection is just.as.real?)
That he is here, watching
a manufactured sunrise,
is the reason for his asking

-- and that, that question,
blurred by endless hours of waking,
is the reason he cannot sleep.

He watches each sun(rise) to the set, to the dominion of the moon (where, each night, the stars are reborn.)