This week’s poem in the Catholic Poetry Room is by Laurie Klein.
Though the Light Fades
God’s wood thrush, at dusk, echoes
every day’s hope,
each note a psalm of a self,
a white blossom
where rests fall between sounds
like petals. See the way air
cups a face that it loves, and light
strokes the hollow
curve of the throat, serenely
speechless.
Originally appeared in Heliotrope, 2002, Every Day Poems, 2020
Laurie Klein is the author of the poetry collection Where the Sky Opens (Poeima Poetry Series, Cascade), and an award-winning chapbook, Bodies of Water, Bodies of Flesh. A past recipient of the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, Klein has also been nominated for Pushcart Prizes in poetry and Creative Nonfiction. She lives in the Inland Northwest.
