Finding Light: Poetry

Around a table at El Mag as the days grow short.

A warm place in the early dark of December.

I had a Burrito To Go—

misnamed because I always eat it there.

There are so few lights on the peninsula at night;

much more darkness

as raccoons meander across untraveled roads.

Waves lap empty beaches

depositing bits of sea glass and trash.

Winds blow through the bayside pines

and old houses decay into dust

so slowly.

All the more precious the table around which we sat,

we five.

Sharing notes and news

but sheltered by a light

that pervades it all.

There is no darkness the light doesn’t touch.

–Alex Joyner