A Stone, A Leaf, A Door …

. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door.
And of all the forgotten faces.

Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not
know our mother’s face; from the prison of her flesh have we come
into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth.

Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into
his father’s heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?

O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this
most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we
seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven,
a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. [Where? When?]

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.

Thomas Wolfe

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