of now that it has finally
come to rest? Has assumed
the position, as it were, the
one that says traveling is
over for the day. Poses
for the painter on a velvet
cushion, inside a wicker chair —
not quite renaissance splendor
but close enough to it, given
the times. Is it thinking &/or
surveying the visible world
in front of it? Is it reflecting
the invisible one? Is this a
programmed move, a simple
act of recuperation? Or has its
power source drained, & the
binary pathways all dried up?
