Puzzled By She Poem by shimon weinroth

I wonder, how she manages
sitting is such an effort,
what drives her
to get up

nostrils expanding
breathing irregular,
cheeks drawn and flushed
still, all the joints get together

look into her comely face
irises dilate
is she smiling, grinning
or lips parted in pain

energy of purpose
and her puzzle is no more
steps out into the garden
to water her plants

flowerpots, the grass, the trees
and the cats
I try to eavesdrop
what language is she speaking

the rhythm of her motion humming
her pace more sure
her drive more resolute
her universe sublime and content

my cosmos awestruck and muddled
she knows a secret
she will not share
I'll have to learn it for myself

I wonder if shall ever understand
the psyche of she