THE END OF THE ORDINARY BODY
In the prison, bodies come to understand the walls. Their hands move
little, clutched in front of faces until there is the wall and the barred
window of the cell. From behind there, you can sense other hands
slithering past like amoebas, unseen and immune to expression,
but they are there, hidden, all five fingers faintly moving. Silence, at
least, at last, will never leave. Yes, there is the door, but outside it, the
soundless jangling of people.