One reads through a magnifying glass the lace’s latticed intricacy, the veil as a text of ambiguity.
How a thread tethers and repairs. One has been at times willfully blind. At other times: short-
sighted. One offers voids, illusions of transparency, a stage before the actors have entered. One
is not blameless, but close enough. As the forest claims a position in the foreground, one is
between lucidity and indeterminacy. One is in the midst a dark wood, a selva oscura.