Sunday, July 22, 2012

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.


Anonymous said...

Absolutely love.

Maureen said...

Lovely. Your choice of image also excellent.

Martha Jane Orlando said...


Louise Gallagher said...

This is lovely -- and the mirror of your words with the image is divine!

S. Etole said...


Debra said...

Powerful imagery, powerful poem!