she frames her lips
to give them context
always opening the window to pray.
she looks at the world through fingers (hers),
framing summer sound: woodpecker, lake echo,
she prefers watching sound to listening,
her fingers round her eyes, ears blinking open.
there is a line only two of them know about,
the line in the lake where the sand rises
up to meet their dives,
a line that reminds them of the sand castles their mom guarded back on land,
and reminded them of the shore they had left only minutes before.
she loves the complete disorientation of lake
where arms are no different from legs,
hands from feet,
sound from silence.
she loves the lake,
where all reference points – line and light
a world, halfway between surface and sand
clocked by the pull of lungs.