There are just not enough straight lines. That is the problem. Nothing is flat or parallel. Beams balance crookedly on supports thrust off the vertical. Nails clutch at open seams. The whole structure leans dangerously towards the miraculous. Into this rough frame,
someone has squeezed a living space and even dared to place these eggs in a wire basket, fragile curves of white hung out over the dark edge of a slanted universe, gathering the light into themselves, as if they were the bright, thin walls of faith.