He does not cross the room. He does not have to. She keeps her eyes closed, and still she could tell you exactly where he is standing.
A face is drawn on this rug in deep red and gold against a wide ivory ground, its eyes closed, entirely at rest. The red gathers in the corners and drifts inward in small broken squares, the way a pull is felt long before it is seen. So much is left ivory that the red finds you from the far side of any room.
