A DEVOUT POSTULANT

She gazes at soft subservient eyes,
gently extending a hand to his muzzle,
and whispers, “What an elegant colt!”

His ears turn up, and he rubs his
head against her longing face;
he is ready to serve.

She slips a toe of a well polished
boot into the stirrup, grasping
the saddle’s horn over the swell.

Then hoists her right leg around
lustrous loins, planting herself
snuggly on the well-worn saddle.

In advance of the cathartic ride,
she bows towards his crown,
and he proceeds.

One step at a time; first–a
controlled three-beat canter,
three hoofbeats per stride.

Her restless thighs squeeze his
ribs, and the pace accelerates
to a four-beat gallop.

The reigns of the bridle
are wound mindfully around
each of her ring fingers.

She now controls his sinewy ribs,
and with bridal authority, focuses on
an experience only he can provide.

He takes a giant inhale to widen
her legs—well aware of how high
she relishes the rise and fall.

Dutifully he presses on, like
the lead dog in an Iditarod race,
aiming to please the Gods.

Or, like a locomotive engine, fed
with fresh coal in the hollow of its
furnace, striving for full throttle.

As their organic rhythm builds,
she crouches over sizzling cinders,
stoking tinder of an insatiable fire.

The pounding of hooves induces a flush,
forcing the aroused atmosphere to discharge,
first thunder, then nourishing rain.

Below, the terrain is dripping with morning
dew, and soaked with plant roots, releases
waves of involuntary quivers.

Their effort toward transcendence,
feeds the hunger of a ravenous universe,
and is rewarded with primordial calm.

The vivid purples, blues, and
lavenders of the pasture are restored–
now the Gods are gratified.

This is the unspoken communion
between a fevered equestrian
and a servile equine.

That night, he stood transfixed,
meditating in a tack room, where halters,
bridles, saddles, and whips are stored.

Surrounded by a charged monastic
silence, he contemplates his service
as a newly consecrated postulant.

Above, the firmament pulsates with stars, each
donning a white robe, in concert proclaiming
hosannas to how the world’s bliss can be restored.

— © Abraham Menashe