We call her name

She walks in Homer in a robe

of saffron; in Virgil she lies in a bed

of saffron. Her wonder intrigues

Shakespeare, and Tennyson,

even Thoreau watches her crisp

the pond’s edge. It takes a later time

to turn the dawn into darkness,

the light fractured and torn

into ragged shreds of memory.

Turning to the light as we call her name,

we hear only the echo 

of a terrible silence.

In Greek mythology, Aurora is the goddess of the dawn.

Illustration: Aurora, acrylic on wood panel by Mike Hale.