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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 composition and edit a poetry weekly, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.


The good-morrow.

by John Donne

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I 
Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then? 
But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childishly? 
Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den? 
T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.        
If ever any beauty I did see, 
Which I desir'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee. 
And now good morrow to our waking soules, 
Which watch not one another out of feare; 
For love, all love of other sights controules,  
And makes one little roome, an every where. 
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, 
Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne, 
Let us possesse one world, each hath one, and is one. 
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares,  
And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, 
Where can we finde two better hemispheares 
Without sharpe North, without declining West? 
What ever dyes, was not mixt equally; 
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I  
Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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