For beauty is nothing but the beginning
‍                         of terror which we are barely able to endure . . .
                                                                    —Rainer Maria Rilke    
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As a museum guard gestures me away from your illustration, I squint

to decipher watercolor-strokes so fine the hare’s huge ears glisten.

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I don’t want to touch his shimmer—though it moves me thoroughly.

And, I am not about to fog it with breath—even as it washes my own away.

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Yet, such stunning detail requires intimacy with reflection: a barely

perceptible cross-barred window radiating from the young one’s eye.

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