Nearly home, I take my hands
from the bar and the bike tracks straight.
My long shadow fills the road as
I sit up and look around, and
the earth is alive with the wind's breath.
The bike wants to stay upright, a friend says--
comforting personification that makes us a team,
this willful soul-giving to a machine.
My hands fall to my sides, as slight shifts
in my weight—automatic, really--
keep the course now. Balance and motion:
what more do I truly need?
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