His passing is from
the pedaling that’s done.
His pedaling makes
the passing we’ll see.
His passing is from
the pedaling that’s done.
His pedaling makes
the passing we’ll see.

A single thought drifts in
hangs, goes

Milk light from the blue, aging night sky.
Drink at last of its newness.


Well before the sun

This is where
the road will go,
but where is where
the future will go?