Caught in her mouth, a memory stirs, the husk of an enormous moth that crumbles at the touch. Under her door she can see the days pass in the corridor like empty wheelchairs. An inmate shuffles past, dragging his walker like a portable cage. The darkness within me is growing. I am turned out.
Thought feeds on it even as the body is eaten.
Its goodness is without a face. But it convinces me to look. It can fade from now until doomsday. It will not fade. In the night I see it shining, like a thing seen.