For beauty is nothing but the beginning
of terror which we are barely able to endure . . .
—Rainer Maria Rilke
As a museum guard gestures me away from your illustration, I squint
to decipher watercolor-strokes so fine the hare’s huge ears glisten.
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.
Yet, such stunning detail requires intimacy with reflection: a barely
perceptible cross-barred window radiating from the young one’s eye.