Zencycle

Zencycle

Mental luggage
Strewn behind...
On twenty pounds of tin
I’m partly in the sky.

Airborne seed puff floats,
I flash black, chrome
And yellow below.
Furrowed red clay fields,
Air soured by
Manure like vinegar.

With toppled stone fence,
The door unhinged,
An abandoned house
Knows no privacy.

Lone oak atop the hill stretches
Bony fingers to firmament,
The confident colt canters
Close to the mare,
Picture postcards everywhere.

I bob my head
Avoid a bug,
Honeysuckle
Fills my lungs.

Old folks wave from
An indoor couch
On an outdoor porch.
Farm dog quits his languid chase
Along Glen Gully Road.

Downhill,
Musk of marsh
Wind flows over flesh
I stand on pedals
A sensual caress
I’m a lubricated
Sweat cleansed
State of flow.
I am this moment.