She stands in the crowd—
solitary and silent,
an island — all her own.
The people flow, surround her 
on the sidewalk, bumping past her 
as they go.

She's been standing here a long time,
her edges worn smooth by the people
who brush past.

She no longer remembers stopping
No longer remembers anything
but an infinity of waiting, 
and a stationary salute
she can't recall beginning.

The people pass by and she watches,
doesn't understand their hurry,
can't share their urgency.

Her peace has grown roots,
right down through crumbling concrete—
down into the damp earth that lingers below.

She stretches, reaching long arms
up for the sun. She turns her eyes
from the crowds, and smiles 
toward the blue of the sky,

She hears only the breezes and sighs.