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First Light
by Michael Escoubas

I'm up early
just to be there
when the curtain rises
when light enters
the world, the way light
always has, the way light
always will.
How dawn appears
without sound
on tippy-toes,
like a mother checking
on her sleeping child,
I do not know—
but somehow, sounds of life
(the loon's call, a splash of fish,
a gaggle of geese trailing wake)
slide through seams of light
sealed in orange and blue—
the world seems clean, clear,
welcoming, I hear a whisper,
Turn into the light.


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