A wild Pegasus grazes
next to Star B Stables in Virginia,
ready to spread his lacy wings
and rise above the weepy clouds.
But the preverbal horse
relies on the words of a fickle poet
to make him fly.
If only there were just a Pegasus problem,
an idle poet could solve it.
If only there was just one lie,
a word could make it right —
to awake the dreamer,
to raise the dead.
The brilliance of words brings confusion —
they were mighty, now they are useless.
A peek at a stranger’s grocery list
tells me more than a hundred poems.
Pegasus glimpses the leafy forest,
the steep road to a grassy field,
lusts after the weepy clouds.
But the pathetic horse cannot wing his way
without the words of the fickle poet.
On the wooden porch stands
an abandoned broken rocker.
Pegasus and poet left
to wring out a few more lines
from memories of the leafy forest,
the steep road to a grassy field,
the weepy clouds.
The sunken, colorless eyes of Pegasus —
the defeat sprang from euphoria.
© Helen Kanevsky, 2017
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| Four Muses and Pegasus on Parnassus Painting by Caesar van Everdingen, c. 1650 The Hague, The Netherlands from Wikimedia Commons |
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