“Ode, Aubade,” by Greg Wrenn

And the morning, too,
falters,
struggles to
assert itself,

burn through
the errant
fog, the pines,
scorch the

Click through to read the rest (please). A poem by my friend Greg Wrenn makes the Poem-A-Day from the Academy of American Poets. His new book, Centaur, which won the Brittingham Prize, was one of only a few books I bought at AWP, and is a delicacy.