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January 5, 2015

On my back, I can lengthen the ray of light hovering before my eye by raising and lowering the lids at ever slighter intervals, and, in so doing, make out delicate rimmed circles, like bubbles, playing at the ray’s edges. In them, though less than a degree in width, I think to see the pits and pocks of my cornea and iris, that imperfect layer through which sight and seen filter. Were I able to set these flaws in glass, I might then hold up my vision up to others as an object in its own right, knowable like others.

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