by: W. A. Marshall
6-6-2014

the spherical motion
a pedal clicked in chrome
like pistons on a train
this continual flowing
equalized organization
of carbon-fiber, trickling over
soft tar and grit -
alfalfa dancing like
a thousand green strippers
for the pastured stallion
goldfinches with spring plumage
and red winged black-birds
calling,
cautioning the field
my escort into
the silent winds
a conflict that coerces
blood further inside
my swollen veins,
and my lungs and heart
labor to find fresh air
in a country of drivers
with disturbed faces
in vehicles that hurry by
fading into oblivion
but I and thou glide firmly
burning –
in the moment
of my self-contained
fire.