A reflection off a window is recorded.
A painting becomes a fractal of this recording.
Our lives, reviewed.
We are thinking of our next moment.
With our husbands, our wives.
Our next moment with our children,
Our next moment, and our next moment.
We are looking for the flip-side of our record
in slow motion.
Unprocessed is this time between the pages,
drifting.
We tend upon aloofness,
a step away from being blindly ignorant.
Catching harbingers is an art,
giving them away is another.
© 15-May-2009 Sonja J. Johnston
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