Bicycling from Todtnauberg

Minnows : silverfish : other gray skimming
things : my tires' downhill glide.
Church steeples (too pretty, too pretty!) cling

to the crisp wafer of sky.
Because nobody throws the dice-roll
that says accident this day, I fly,

philosophy's black cackle
at my back. The heaven is hard,
but I'm simmering in a crystal bell

aiming the white line down. Cars
haul me in their metal wind.
Double-thunder on my arms:

my sleeves pounding against my skin.
Past windows with geraniums and geraniums
planted thick, I shimmy on my thin

twisting streak; the road's hums
rise from wheel-rims to handlebars to teeth.
So I'm strummed till the road bottoms

some miles beyond my sight. Breathe.
Think not. Think not. Ride
into your silent shriek.

Copyright © 2008 Suzanne Zweizig All rights reserved
from Subtropics
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission