Rendered in a dense chiaroscuro of incised marks, this woodcut stacks domestic architecture into a vertiginous labyrinth, its repeating ledges and rooms reading like strata of lived time. Across this precarious city, a sleeping figure stretches as an impossible horizon—at once sheltering and entrapped—suggesting how private longing can dwarf the very world that contains it. The obsessive crosshatching turns light into a scarce commodity, so that every small doorway and gathered crowd feels earned, implying a narrative of desire that is “cherished” precisely because it must endure the weight of daily survival.