Folio ea9bbb81
Italiano
The bat’s echo stitches the dark into sound; the white heightens the eye until the world cracks open like a seed; the river at night gathers every drop’s memory and lets it pass—three doors opening onto the same threshold where the maker and the made are not two but one motion, the act of perceiving folding back upon the thing perceived until neither can say which was the hand and which the glove.
English
The bat’s echo stitches the dark into sound; the white heightens the eye until the world cracks open like a seed; the river at night gathers every drop’s memory and lets it pass—three doors opening onto the same threshold where the maker and the made are not two but one motion, the act of perceiving folding back upon the thing perceived until neither can say which was the hand and which the glove.
