If I could turn down
the static in my head, what
sweet song would I hear?
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Tomorrow is a speeding rider up the road.
My slight gain, a slip back--I can't reel him in,
hovering, rocking, shimmering in the cold.
No number, no race, nothing clear to win.
What may I see around the beckoning curve?
No matter my speed, I will face it alone.
Will it steel me, spur me, or unhinge my nerve?
Feeling much, only seeing what is shown.
We all ride, trapped in our bubbles of time.
Yet in any moment, who can say “it's mine”?
I will be that rider, as I was the one behind.
You and I are alike, not in time but in kind.
Chasing that next fleeting rider up the road
into another evening's quickly fading glow.
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