"I turn this way—the stone lets me go. I turn that way—I’m inside the Vietnam Veterans Memorial again, depending on the light to make a difference. I go down the 58,022 names half-expecting to find
"Names shimmer on a woman's blouse but when she walks away the names stay on the wall. Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's wings cutting across my stare. The sky. A plan in the sky."
The speaker is inferring that the vet isn't really looking at him but what the speaker experience in the war. This dispiriting circumstance that they share is obvious in their mutual gaze.
He first sees the woman trying to erase the past, but finally sees it as just a motherly act. It is here that he makes a pivotal shift in his emotions about the monument. He no longer is it's prisoner, but just a part of its purpose.