First Light
The fingers of the sun
fall across my face
in the east room
where the lobsterman slept
for most of a century.
The light draws me out,
leaving my sleeping husband,
down to the porch
to witness glory
rising out of the sea,
backlighting the islands,
flaming the sky and water.
I inhale the colors,
inflating my heart,
floating into the sunrise..
Lari Smith