You are hung safely in the past now,
fixed in the frame of the photograph
from that day in the mountains when I was afraid
but you went right in, trusting your body
to the body of the lake, its coldness
that held you even as the bottom dropped
away. I’d like to remember you
floating in the green world
of the water, the heavens broken open
like a vault above us, and summer
pouring through.

I bring retainers
to hold her teeth in situ
while the rest of her slips askew,

—for my mother

The day before you go deaf completely,
I will make you noise.
I will bring birds, bracelets,
chimes to hang in wind.