March 4, 2013


On descents
the wheels
begin to sing,
feeling their way
along each curve.
Something is born,
for the first time
in my hands,
knowing why
it was really made.
Now my life
is held in trust,
no room for error
at this speed.
Following each bend
with the slightest lean,
I come back up
on the straight again,
my bearings
still sing their mournful
tune, wondering why
we must stop
so soon.