In the morning rain the cyclist glides across the river bridge

Dressed for the cold, lights blinking front and back.

The moist air fills his lungs as he pushes,

Hoping the traffic is light on this grey day


Where nothing else moves, the bike sings like an arrow

It’s tires seething against the wet pavement

Slinging fans of white water before and after.

The rider turns and heads uphill

Out of the town and onto the river road

Riding into the low clouds


copyright 2017

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