Unusual

she sees the world

watches it

listens and observes

she sits slightly askew

one foot left of center

she writes things

 in a small notebook

scrawled words on blank pages

she tries

to make sense

of the things that make no sense

she sings quietly

softly

only for herself

anything louder only brings questions

she has no need to answer

she lives inside her mind

her dreams

carefully crafted worlds

where only she

knows how the story will end

and she

isn’t telling anyone

she is seen in the daylight

existing with the rest of them

 as a means

to return to the quiet place

where the only sound she hears

is the turning of the pages

and the lilt

the cadence

the rhythm

that keeps her steady

she crafts and weaves

brilliant threads

stands spanning

the length and distance

of time

and its irrelevance

she is singular

peculiar perhaps

certainly unusual

and in that

she smiles