"Well, it's a tricky choice," she says to him.
" I did tell you, it does not matter where you put that thing...." And truly, it did not.... Not to the self she knew , anyway....
But, oh...to the self she'd buried...!
It turned over, completely, utterly exhausted from waiting for a trusted comforter who did not come.

Abandoned in her crib, she had curled up tight as if to make that hole inside disappear, and had fallen fittful into sleep, soaked and salted, after feeding upon her sobs.

What does this mean; to feel so dependent ?
even after all there was to cling to had fallen away?
Was she to no longer to believe?

The high ground always cracked,

Still, fissured and unsure, his earthquaken will was standing there again.
For he, the victim himself, her victimizer, felt the pull that drove her into the river of his own denial.

Meanwhile, her denial, however, had stopped and rested there at the shore unsatiable need; baffled at how the victimizer, so ashamed and sorry, remained helpless.