On the Road to Damascus

A bolt breaks the shade and knocks

Saul clean off his horse. Unbuckled,

his naked legs are ravished, his cheek and neck

flushed by the light’s concussion.

His hands float beneath the flank

of his horse, whose dull eye lingers

as the groom, bending, leads the mare

into the gloom, grumbling nothing

to see here, Girl, nothing to see.