Marks can also be found on the faces of those speaking; they encourage everyone in the area to stop conversing. There are mutings in every quarter, hands over mouths, kept in flux by weakening resolves that collapse into birdsong.

From their vows, the quietest might earn a spotless face — a clear and shining myth, newly formed — so sleek that raindrops are repelled from the surface. A soundless palace, guarded by loneliness, volume of bone.