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Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU München, where I tutor and edit circulars on poetics and composition, I'm anatomizing the prosody of Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.

20130328

Not Wings


by Carrie Etter

I stumble over the stone angel´s song,
ply her ever-open mouth with tempered
heresy and blushing wit. I lack wings,
have a knack for ascent, how to hover.

I relish belief in an unheard song
and try to refuse to bargain, tempered
by doubt. The lake blues in the wake of wings.
I almost see. This is how I hover,

poised at the bank in a vestige of song.
I listen to the absence. Doubt´s tempered
when faith enjoys its fetters. No, not wings.
A pair of feet--mine--stand where I hover.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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