Twin beat of tire spokes braid night air
into set of rapids a canoe would fall upon
creases of energy propel me deliriously
forward, folds of force soft as pillows,
wells of gravity like muscles from beneath
my legs pound the circle of bicycle pedals
through night soft as sweater, dark, brilliant,
a night where you feel buoyant, lucky
to fold into slopes and quick drops, feel
the wheel spin a little more freely for a moment.
Blessed moment. It is a night where you must ride,
because there will not be more of these nights this year.
A summer night, this evening, has stolen into Fall.
Tonight I will play pool, drink beer, play for table,
see my friends, meet new friends, unexpected,
or unknown, glide through night sky glow sere
moon made. Crows will pace me, mask jet, diamond,
convince me stars race me as hard as I race them.
I reach to ride in that sky, head tipped back, dare
steel to unseat me, take me up to the road that will
surprise me. This comfortable float. I take the
moment to rise, to breach the horizon of constant
moment, seize it, freeze it, try to be the sky, the stars
can’t just be lights, they are more than beacons, the
punctuation of this voyage is almost comprehensible
because of the ease of this bike and the autumn night;
the ease of a woman’s eyes in love, dark that shine
thought, or jewel, the passion that convinces you
this is the night you must be here, right here;
my feet circle the steel of flight, my body this frame,
the night my destination, endless chain my conviction;
the road and I are both hot to go somewhere, this night must
last forever, a dream, a memory, a lazy whirlpool necklaced
with bubbles of time that crawl off my paddle, the water
accepts my passage, as the air surrounds my passage;
I float though I never stop pedalling these wheels.
Peterborough Poets 