SONNET

Afternoon sun on her back,

calm irregular slap

of water against a dock.

Thin pines clamber

over the hill’s top—

nothing to remember,

only the same lake

making the same

sounds under her cheek

and flashing the same color.

No one to say her name,

no need, no one to praise her,

only the lake’s voice—over

and over, to keep it before her.