Bright Spots

The stars that swing through midnight skies,
The lighted buoys on inky seas,
The beacon fires across black lands,
These cannot guide the future course.
They show the traveller what has been
And yield some comfort in the night,
To know the dark not unrelieved,
Indifferent though the light may be.

Yet there are bright spots in our lives:
Those moments we are glad to live,
The touch of joy. For just a wink
Their light is there and then is gone,
But leaves behind an afterglow,
So no bright spot is ever lost
Nor merely lighting what's behind,
Extending a retreating line.

Instead each new bright spot is strung
With all the others, necklace-wise,
To swell a string of shining beads
That ever with the self remains.
So one who journeys in the dark
Needs but this string of burning light
That, bead by bead, will lead one hence,
This rosary of radiance.