(For Sirrah)

She is peering at the image displayed
on the camera’s screen. Her eye no longer
shackled by its nakedness, she easily believes
that the world made visible through
the macro lens is much too lush, too detailed
to be crushed within the cramped dimensions
                                                     of everyday.

The vision consumes her attention. She adjusts
the focus and the frame. Her very being prepares
for the climactic moment, when she will cause
this abundant, exotic flow of information to freeze,
fixed in immobility. Time has not been set on pause,
it streams around the image,
                                   motionless now, and unreal,
a moment's shell, severed by the shutter’s guillotine.

(A sliding raindrop
surrenders to gravity.
Motion’s born again.)