For Benny Efrat
No one expected the horses to remember the Flood.
Time’s nail had rusted in the horseshoe when God
Let the wet shout go into the world.
Since then warriors raced upon their backs,
And the wind’s whip snapped a gallop in their legs.
I therefore ask my friends in the donkeys’ parliament
To hide pride’s tail between hind legs
And offer our brothers, the horses, to be honor guard
On the day we lead messiah.
Only a saddle scorched by sun and scratched by wanderings
Will perhaps convince that rainbow over Ararat
To splash once again the face of the clouds.
Translated by Robert Manaster and Hana Inbar
The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.