The hare.

The act of looking is never innocent. I am thinking about the act of seeing. I am preoccupied with the gaze. My gaze. The gaze directed at me. Discrete individuals I've met. Everything is represented uniformly: the black cat, the paleness of my legs, the hare hanging from the ropes on my balcony. We will not speak of eating, of tasting now, as it is only sight that concerns me today: the absent condition.