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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU M√ľnchen, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

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IX

Your silence today is a pond where drowned things live
I want to see raised dripping and brought into the sun.
It's not my own face I see there, but other faces,
even your face at another age.
Whatever's lost there is needed by both of us
a watch of old gold, a water-blurred fever chart,
a key....  Even the silt and pebbles of the bottom
deserve their glint of recognition.  I fear this silence,
this inarticulate life.  I'm waiting 
for a wind that will gently open this sheeted water
for once, and show me what I can do
for you, who have often made the unnameable
nameable for others, even for me.

Adrienne Rich,
Twenty-One Love Poems

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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