She saw that her roots were dangling
But she could not feel.
She heard herself talk, saying nothing
Yet her mouth and her ears
Would not tell.
And her mind
And her heart
Were not listening anyway.
So she went about life
Hands open, palms empty.
She went through the motions
Like a piece of machinery.
And she cried
And she wanted
But not for humanity.
And she laughed
And was joyous
On occasion, or season
But not for eternity
Or even one day.