So many tiny memories, myself largely a bystander looking admiringly at the camp on the way to the train or while on an evening walk, touch the single moment, like the other side of a coin, when I first saw what had been the camp empty and fenced.  Two men were cleaning the walls where residents had written their hopes, their desires, their dreams, where they had harnessed a wall of that ugly, garish, phallic monument to male power and made it a medium of the beauty in and around them.  All that remains now is an empty cage, a caged emptiness that (I want to say "who") had allowed itself to