She sits,
watching children playing,
woodchips and plastic playgrounds crunch
and leave multi-colored scuff-marks.
A white shirt, a black with white poka-dotted skirt,
sunglasses rest on her forehead,
unmoving,
she sits.

What thoughts leap about
behind her unmoving eyes,
her fingers resting in her cross-legged lap,
one hand flat, the other pinching unseen
illusions,
still unmoving.

Copper statues look towards her,
lost behind a screen of scrub pines,
the mixed thoughts of brown or black
obscured by the mosslike gloss.
What moves behind, inside, this
stillness?