The universe is a blur of light and shadow,
a grand, messy "maybe"
until we show up with a ruler and a grudge against the vague.
To measure is to play a clever game of Hide and Seek.
We hide the continuity
so we can find the discrete.
We pluck a single note from the cacophony
and call it a song.
It is a beautiful, necessary lie:
The world isn't made of things;
it is made of our insistent, naming breath.
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