I ask:

Between the wet and the dry,
There are curtains, square grills, two panels of glass and translucence.
Between out there and in here, there is vagueness.
The rain can be heard, but not be felt.
Between the wall that demarcates,
or the glossy white bouncing off-
that hopes to skirt and mark…
Between here and there, now and later;
between all betweens,
The glossy white shines inside but is wet outside.

In seeking certainty, betweens must cease, like a downpour.
With conviction, there is day, and there is night.

But there is midday, midnight and a wee morning
trailing.
Not omnipresent, but their existence
overlapping.

The rain continues, it is still wet outside and dry inside.
Between all betweens,
I pull the sheets and go to bed.
Wondering whether shadow(s) exist in singularity or plurality.