I could've sworn
I was riding a Trek starship today,
soaring straight into the sun
on my mountain bike,
to pick up a heavy volume
Ezra Pound Cantos down in Råne;
the headwind tearing at my cheeks,
the sun's blowtorch tearing my eyes,
light streaming through my consciousness
like neutrinos through the Earth,
each thought overly elastic and thinned
like calf intestines or Einsteinian relativity

Riding the opposite 26 km
back up to the farm,
with my elongated October shadow
before me,
I had a rather more realistic view,
with both sun and wind
now traveling in concord with me,
bent, as I was, on a hot shower,
a full measure of protein,
and this end note