A Stone, A Leaf, an Unfound Door

Thomas Wolfe, 20th Century novelist, rhapsodic on our constant search for grounding, presence, and hope . . . seek the light and go beyond.  Wolfe writes in the prelude to his novel Look Homeward, Angel:

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 we have 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 the 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.