more than spokes and frames

more than spokes and frames
it's turning wheels, folks with names
riding a brown road uphill
to catch the sun, to get our fill
it's a moving notion that won't stand still
a kinetic inspiration

once we've taken all the birds
it's less about friction and less about words
the brown still beneath, and Big Blue combing through
our heads kneaded gently by string-like winds

lose a day's worth of woes in the pull of our toes
when they seep from our knees and hamstrings
and we're free to think-
but not more than we'd bother-
of any kinetically insignificant thing.

so much do we give to the task at our hands
that the road loses form and we play with the lands

while we're moving in practice
we're caught in a still,
moving notion -
letting just our shadows grow until

we put foot to pedal,
and in a flash of the metal
it's all about this, this instead.
and something inside of us is way ahead
of even us, back on the road.

there's something I think of a well-wheeled trip
ahead of ourselves on the road.

soon you'll realize

soon you'll realize
all at once; one or other
you cannot do both

and when you do, Love
you'll know me as someone else
who has you figured

I'll tell you what I'm not, now

'I'll tell you what I'm not, now,'
said the knower to her known.
'I'm not a person who gives up--
not now, though I've been thrown.

I've plenty yet to learn, still'--
then the knower saw her known
and stepped back and admired
saying 'my, but you have grown!'

and her known was not a flaunter
didn't answer back but stood
always nearby, thereby waiting
as the very best known should

only now that the knower glimpsed
what her good known could provide,

her lips pursed --

she had only to make use of
the phenomenon implied.