“An unwound world seeks its berm. The fine edge of sight, almost but not quite fluid. A man holds up his hands a little apart and says look here. Whole worlds are folded in breast pockets, pocket watch, thaumatrope. On a string between, pulled taut, it spins….The world trues itself. Watch, he says. Here is a beginning without an end and even though you’d like to, you can’t see it any other way.”
Excerpt from the poem ‘Shuttersight’, from ‘Catchlight’ by Sarah O’Brien.