Statutory Statuary Man

Face of a saint on a Byzantine mosaic,
Postcranial shape of a freak show specimen,
The man in the forest with moss on his shoulders
Doesn't move.

                                Maybe he does, but he takes so long,
Not even the moss is disturbed. His urgency
Goes undetected by everything else alive,
And that obliviousness protects him,
As if he and we were here independently,
While suggesting here's what isolation feels like,
Life a legal fiction brooking no exception.