the impatience of stillness

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 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.