I’m part of a group – The Midnight Bike Riders Trying to Fly.
We ride every night and whirl the wheels that move us
Until we envision the spokes spreading out into dainty wings.
Our heads bow low over the handlebars
And we catch each other’s eyes and sweat.
We’re a curious group.

It’s dark and sometimes we come across tired people on the sidewalk
- fragmented silhouettes in the street lamps’ fierce beam -
Heading the opposite way,
Chasing time to go back to the light; it grounds them.
It’s easier to face problems in daylight than the dark.
We try to pull the people with us,
“The moon’s light is this way!”
We tell them we’re The Midnight Bike Riders Trying to Fly
And tonight we’re taking off.

And sometimes,
Runners and rule-breakers and dancers and dog-walkers
Join us.
Then come the rocking-chair-rockers,
The exhausted-spit-up-cleaners
The young-and-in–what?-love-or-sex-thinkers.
And soon we’re all just galloping, breathing, pedaling, running, rocking
All just Trying to Fly.