The images appear to emerge from a darkness. They shift, from one to the next, as if a match had been lit, briefly, from inside a moment. Some fall within a range of the recognizable and nameable: I see a finger, aglow, pointing; I see a window with two blocks beneath it, warmed by the sun; I see a reflection of the sky and trees, inverted, in a pool; I see a finger, much closer, blocking what I can see; I see a house, through the leaves, painted red; I see more leaves; I see a finger pointing at the leaves; I see a lake; I see its green horizon; I see a playground with a blue slide; I see a grey VCR player; beside it, a tangle of cords; I see a white dog, looking; I see more trees, more green, clouds over water.  The things I cannot name fade into the moving penumbra that inescapably frames my sight.

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