By Laurie Klein It is God’s kiss, gentle as erosion —Mark Nepo Of course, we must all unravel, as we gravely mouth the verbs of change, until ego resists no more than a garment, sloughed. May our souls, exposed, forgo shoring up gaps, as if we can somehow repair one blessèd thing: these closet selves, no more substantial than April air crocheted into a shawl, only need to be shouldered, held again to the breastbone. Laurie Klein is the author of Where the Sky Opens and Bodies of Water, Bodies of Flesh. A grateful recipient of the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, she lives in the Pacific Northwest and blogs, monthly, at lauriekleinscribe.com.
Laurie's other work on Foreshadow: Private, as the Small of a Back (Poetry, October 2023) Predawn (Poetry, October 2023)
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