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 21 Love Poems, 1978 :::There was a tiny pool of water from last night's rain on the road near our home. Above image shows trees reflected on it. Hope you like the pic.