Take apart one moment, this moment beside the blue teacup and yellow desk of the library carrel, fingers parting and coupling, water grazing. If you open the correct book at the correct moment you will be given everything. If not you’ll have to keep opening books endlessly, just that repeated action. Can you imagine it? She imagines opening each book and trying to slow down the action of opening one book more easily than retreating from substance. Hands hold the edges of something physical, whereas within we are looking at something completely intangible. Substance is never ephemeral and yet it cannot be contained in a blue teacup, or in fingers repeatedly lifting a teacup to lips. But somehow every action opens the edges of infinite pause.