Pegasus

A three-quarter moon
Dominated last night’s sky.

The atmosphere

Unusually clean

Provided clear visitation.

Every crater

Each lava pool

Was brilliant and clear.

Below the lunar orb

Pegasus soared

Wings spread in might

Full of power and wisdom.

Pegasus

Is the consort

Of poets.

I lifted my pen

Crusted with

Shallow verse

And appealed for

Rhyme

Meter and measure

For the blessing of words

To flow like rivers

Of ink on 

Lunar-bright paper.

Were I to truly trust

In the power of myth

I would have run to compose

To see what gift may come.

But I tuck it all away

Yearning for the birth

Of words

Like the colts of Pegasus

Rising upon wobbly legs

Taking uncertain steps.

And I would await the day

He might clear the fence

With titanic wings

And trot the stars

The way poets

Trot the alphabet

To birth words

As foals of horses

With wings of stars.