Words which are not

enough—despite our regrets
and longings—mound, swept together
like dead mayflies, brittle
with sorrow nearly
unspeakable. Where is solace
meant to settle, like dew?
A life shatters, its hunger
for wholeness hopefully
drifting toward Mystery,
luring us nearer
that sacred spark and scald—
vitality older than
we dare believe. Prayers may
falter, but know this:
though language flails
and has too often failed us,
our questions spiral,
eventually join
that beguiling Love
that summoned this universe, which,
from our first shuddering breath,
clear through forever, rekindles
the holy flint, blazons our way.
Poem reprinted with permission from Wipf and Stock.
Author
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View all postsLaurie Klein is the author of Where the Sky Opens (Poeima/Cascade) and an award-winning chapbook, Bodies of Water, Bodies of Flesh. “Frost” is part of House of 49 Doors: entries in a life, Laurie Klein’s forthcoming poetry collection from The Poeima Poetry Series (Cascade, 2024). A past winner of the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred and a Pushcart nominee, Laurie’s work has also appeared in The Christian Century, Ascent, First Things, EcoTheo Review, Presence, Relief, Dappled Things, Saint Katherine Review, The Windhover, Ruminate, Ekstasis, and elsewhere. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and blogs monthly at lauriekleinscribe.com.
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