“
If on a winter’s night a traveller
outside the town of Malbork,
leaning from the steep slope
without fear of wind or vertigo,
looks down in the gathering darkness
in a network of lines that enlace,
in a network of lines that intersect
on the carpet of leaves under the moon
around an empty grave-
What story down there awaits its end?
Italo Calvino, “If on a winter’s night a traveller”