The dancer bows, the image-making daddy dances, the mom contemplates her future as the tethered anchor of the dancer and image maker. The musician strums chords to shape the bowing baby dancer's sense of time. The sense of time within the mother's breast accellerates. The daddy falls into the settings on his camera, lost in the project of making the present the past, proof against the future loss of innocence and memory alike. The moment spirals away from everyone. Only the baby dancer rides against the current of time upon her beats, pirouettes, and archaic hand gestures which remind the gods themselves what they have done to us, and will do to us again.
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