silver shoes punctuate the ends of
legs crossed at the ankles,
body clad in floaty blue and grey,
brown hair a wing-ed whirlwind —
a tumbleweed.
she has nothing to speak
yet much to express.
she watches the wind rustle the bushes,
the world rain spring petals back down
upon itself.
people saunter by, reflected back again
in the glass.
dusky voices interrupt the solitude
of her thoughts.
“i know you all too well” —
a snatch of conversation floats through the air.
these have little to do
with her.
she and they are different,
a contrast of introspection
with coy flirtation.
she is in love with words —
which are her definition.
