Micha
Beneath the silver river of stars,
under the spreading maple trees,
the mare pacing, grazing, pacing.
Two men watching. No words.
On the horse-cropped grass,
Micha lies down, whinnying.
Khyert, once a stableboy,
watches beside his king.
Under the wind-stirred leaves,
Micha strains, rests, strains.
King Xau looks a question at Khyert,
who nods back his reassurance.
Under the crescent moon,
emerging, wrapped in membrane,
one small foot, then another.
Two men watching.
Dawn floods the river of stars;
the foal born, the mare resting.
Khyert beside his king, his heart full.
A night worth a month of days.
(First published in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review)