An appetite, cleanly
Our morning hymn this is, and song at evening
Collider with the dark
Still: she makes her way
Not see through, because the thought of seeing through is a vanity. You can see only into. What is permitted you to see is not a bird on the other side of the glass but a bird-form within. At the back of the glass, where the art ends, are only birdless wordless shadow and opaque ne plus ultra of the dark.