As I ride in the afternoon
A whiff of a poem hangs in the air
My soul stretches and yearns,
A scent of a whiff of a feeling
Lingers malingers spirals away
I pedal and I sweat,
Body happy in the Sunday heat
Still a swirl of a scent
of a whiff of a song
Somewhere a melody awaits
Words perched on the edge
Waiting to descend
Words like souls on the rim of heaven
Waiting to be written, waiting to be thought
I perk my ears, a sound of a siren
A sigh of a swirl of a scent of a whiff
Of a something…
I ride down the avenue, bodies and minds
And vehicles all around me
The immense incoherence of all of us
Exhaust fumes, hot concrete
Ugliness and effort against a uselessly beautiful sky
Why would I be visited by a whisper of a poem
Why, if my life waits for me on a fifth floor
I work and I eat and I shop and I spend and I crest and I fall
Crest and fall but who would stop and listen if I sang
And why me and why now
I pedal and I search
I think on the words.
If I ever captured this poem,
If by my hand it would
Descend into this world
I would not want to sing it out loud
I would not want to own it even
Could it just go quietly and find its way
Into just a few hearts, could it hang in the air
Just a whiff of a scent of a something in the hot afternoon