This is the transition:
Where is the last edge
of the darkness
and where does the light
of morning hide
before it decides
to peek out from the
lethargic clouds. Look at me,
he thinks. It is not yet
day. He sees the moon
setting over the hills
as he walks,
the sun about
to rise in the east.
He strolls on tongue-tied and mute,
paying attention mostly
to the small sounds and the
lengthy shadows.
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