Difficult to say, the collateral. On one hand, the certain tortoise shell falling cupped in the slender hand—on the other, what the mirror showed without your intervention, tiredly, reflecting the raggedness you projected, or emoted, quietly, unasked. A dilemma indeed? Imagine a prism interleaved with real forms of lines—gazes, definitions, signs—and reversed—gazes, concepts, signified—that, in turn, reverse, vein, web-over, interleave, weave, cross-hatch, until the prism is as prisms are: capillaried. Look again and know that the inciting figure is invisible, never was visible, is irrelevant, if words suffice (or deign) to describe its being as it is—worthy of doubt, if not inexistent—a fissure—or not a fissure, the fissure within—frisson, merely—but nothing—don’t qualify it—simply.