If you came at night like a broken king…
what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all.
(T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”)
A broken king takes silent refuge
In this house of softly waiting,
Binding truths into the hope
Of all our common prayers.
Though now there still is
Yet no answer,
In broken
Praying
Wait.
The Consolations of Writing 