Mutable truths, or scenes from a short slumber on a rainy mid-week afternoon (a poem)

Yesterday, I attended an ekphrastic writing workshop. Distracted by the conversations taking place in the gallery during the time set aside for writing, I had trouble writing much of anything during the three and a half hours I was there. Instead, I found myself underlining the words within the words on the page of writing exercises given to every participant. Every line (except the last two) of this poem contains a word from the list of words I got from the first exercise.
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