What We Call Our Life Is Neither

Eyes open and close on fever.
Life slips in and out of focus,
A lover in and out of clothes,
Green lawn in and out of shadow.

Here comes the end of October.
Vacant skies could not be bluer,
And still awareness is confused,
Neither observed nor observer,

An observation born of both
That feels itself as true as false,
As much all the things not alive
As none, belonging to no one.