Only in imagination could such wings be spread,
in fancy alone could concerted muscle wrench
the burden of equine flesh free of gravity,
leaving those grasping and jealous arms empty.
What sort of creature could this fabled beast, this Pegasus, be?
The ancients first dreamed the mythic horse among the foaming
breakers of the agitated sea. The fabulous creature, so they believed,
was sired by Poseidon, the ocean’s ancient, imperious king.
They also told how Pegasus was born at Medusa’s death.
The gorgon had been impregnated by Poseidon. As Perseus
struck off the monster’s head, the flying horse drew in his first breath.
and spread those fantastic, those impossible wings.
Consider how the ocean’s stallion might take flight supported
by great pinions matured in the plumbless deeps of inspiration.
Picture how such a creature might climb to visionary peaks,
transporting quotidian routine beyond its mundane horizons.