PATTERN of the whitening, kin to the Leaves Without Number, who governeth the single figure from which the host is drawn. He appeareth as two great leaves laid near the eye, their lobes spread like opened hands and every vein struck to silver, white fire upon a pitch so deep the branch that bears them all but vanishes. His office is to hold the one shape still long enough to be read: the rib, the fork, the lesser fork within the fork, the same law writ small inside itself again. Where his sister scatters, he abides; where she is the many, he is the one. He teacheth that the part already contains the whole, that to know a single leaf is to know the wood entire. Study him and the canopy unfolds from a hand; close your eyes and he is veined upon them yet.
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