Poetry: Holy Saturday



Yes, there’s a day for longing,

for lighting candles, looking out.

The wind blows back against the creek,

but the tide carries it out nonetheless.

A spectral cloud lies low on the bay

and billows fingers across the sky,

Advancing on the unsuspecting land,

visiting a chill on all who perceive.

We are waiting by the waters,

assuaging the unrequited recesses

we never dare to bare.

There is a solidarity of the hungering,

I imagine.

But perhaps,

I alone am left.

–Alex Joyner

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