I’ve heard folks making fun of Homer
and his “rosy-fingered dawn” trope,
but those who say such things
have little appreciation of dawn:
its pristine hope, awesome promise,
that glow making all things new,
which is what good poetry attempts to do.
Dawn lightens landscape and soul.
Older men come to realize that dawn
was and is the best feature of life
they habitually slept through—
that poetry of earth bathed in dew.
Walking barefoot at the cool of dawn
comes close to re-entering childhood
where life is a day-long party,
symposium of daily discovery
like admiring a grasshopper jumping....