I thought my glasses had steamed up,
I took them off to take a look,
It seemed the sky had fallen down,
I streamed as though inside a cloud.
I moved as through a muddied sea,
With something desperate leaching me,
Roaming in strands and binding sight,
A foaming illusion on an unhindered night;
Bordered by an ordinary evening and morn,
And lasting much longer than dusks should adorn,
Threading so coldly between earth and air,
And treading through tweed until bare.
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