In this windless room
she has come to rest
on a musty sofa
by a dusty palm

Here has sat long enough
to watch the sun slant in
and sweep and leave
the room as dusty as before

It comes through glass
between the rows of book spines
and an early photograph
of a French park with pond

Disturbs her rapt recall
of how one year ago she fell
into a lake by Gatineau
in terror saw

the mute enamel sky
ignore the bubbles rising as she sank
and the pine trees ringing round
lean in to watch the going down

Strollers dragged her then or after
from the cold suck of black water
but later later now
the eye is on what stirs and shifts

beneath the surface of her sleep
below the fluid surface you can see
a white face looking up
in fatal shock
to read the naked sky