Seated in quiet corner, against an entire world to see,

Engrossed in ads and fiction, stares an absently minded she;

Opted out of connects, even a la espieglerie,

Awareness is the real miss, chief to over-bored bourgeois,

Until a peerless window screams back, “Look not at, but through me,”

And slumbered soul high-rises to milieu’s serendipity. ; )