This is the time
when wakeful day is covered in a sheet of drowsy twilight,
and air
is cool
but not cold.

The lights are dim, but not dark
and the sounds are quiet
but not silent.

I can feel my mind fall drowsy
caught in the muting mist of gentle energy,
and dimly blinking electricity.

I become a raindrop within a horde of raindrops
a hundred miles above the ground;
a plastic bag caught in some exhaled breeze
that floats about without a sound.

My own ego clings to me, like a friend without companion
it seems afraid to be abandoned,
so I have speaks with it awhile.

I learn a list of all transgression, and preach long sermons to the night.
Is it listening?
I'm long gone, and would not know it otherwise.
It's beginning to turn to darkness,
and I have too much on my mind.