Cycling

Flow and action moving over Earth Spine
Through fireweed and wild white asters
​Nestled in grasses

It’s in the movement--
The sound of air rushing by my ears.

Ahead, the soft, winding path
Lapping over earth,
Rising, dipping, turning,
Like waves over the vast.

Fields of dancing grasses
Slip beneath spinning wheels,
As if the path itself
Were consumed by intense desire.

And then it happens--
A death, of sorts.

I and the bike cease to exist.
Somehow, it is all
Just perfect movement:
Flow and action,
Moving over earth spine,
Through fireweed and wild white asters,
Nestled in grasses.

They and I,
Paradoxically,
Indistinguishable
In the living landscape.

The stars know this.
Now—through me.

And as a gift
For this death, of sorts,
Their constant presence and beauty
Reminding each other of who we are:
Attentive,
In the giving
Of the one to the other --
Endlessly cycling
Love.