Monday, February 12, 2007


Sad sky, thick with tears.
Full moon drops into still water
ripples against resting logs,
white spray coats the shore.

Between my arms, through
my knees, I look down and
see my chain flowing.
Under my wheels --
whispering moss, soft
sponges, crackling branches.

Trail fades till fallen old-growth,
ten feet wide, hundreds long, few
weeks down, split in half.

End of the ride, I climb
inside, cedar scents, hiding in
your belly, sprouting ferns,
lying in my new bed, thirsty,
mouth open, drinking mist.

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