by Lael Klar

I long for a day when prayer comes easy,
when my murmurings don’t stop at popcorn 
plaster, or float through the space alongside
dust and what my hands can’t seem to capture.
Or when I walk out to meet the rain and
tilt my head up so it can find me, why
does it feel like only the gulls listen
for the ache that lies in the shrinking heart,
as water hits window panes it beats steady.
It’s then that I know that it won’t always
be this way. I see a world with endless
skies, with not a ceiling in sight, instead 
words flow out with ease and surround us with 
peace, where snakes and bugs sleep coiled and quiet.

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Lael Klar writes about silence: what it holds, and who we become when we’re left inside it. She is particularly drawn to the overlooked and the ordinary, finding images that make the familiar feel suddenly new.