“It’s in this moment that her own unwinding is set in motion: inner belts slacken, gears list out of mesh, a membrane of wordless fury slips between the cogs as she feels a primal ligature wrenched up from some deep hollow, like the cracked glyphs of an abandoned alphabet or cached seeds. Staring up at the zero-sum of him, she feels one of those seeds plant itself in the humus of her grief, unaware of how quickly that seed will sprout a fixation on the fugues of what it is to be made, unmade, and then made all over again, though never quite the same.”

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