Black-coloured girl
I leaned her over
running
thawing
from the early dawn
along the back-roads
her engine runs
dirt-pure
vibrates soul
into the broken earth
with sounds of revolution
with a quickening pulse
I open her throttle
to listen
to feel
to intuit
the way
she moves me
she suspends me
in the present
like an extra
in a wartime film
I sense the importance
of the little things
the minute details
flashing past our eyes
so often out of sight
I sense her hope
as she raises
her face to the sun
to which we ride on.
In memory of Maddog, wherever the wind has taken her…
One reply on “Motorcycle Diaries”
“In memory of Maddog, wherever the wind has taken her… ”
…..and then brought her back to you =)