Nuala McEvoy, Cold Wood
Riding My Bike
Aliesa Zoecklein
I for-
ward into, into
damp air a vibrating
spin of blur— blue potato chip bag
soaked cardboard
I greet walkers, joggers, wanderers,
I ring my bell sometimes
am relieved when the unbright sky
swirls, the stoplight lingers green
& I become an eye-
house, a window-dream— a corner room empty
for breathing
then a balcony of lit
cigarettes, laughter or a broken chair
at the curb now a pile of leaves this day everywhere this
day alive with vanishing
Aliesa Zoecklein
I for-
ward into, into
damp air a vibrating
spin of blur— blue potato chip bag
soaked cardboard
I greet walkers, joggers, wanderers,
I ring my bell sometimes
am relieved when the unbright sky
swirls, the stoplight lingers green
& I become an eye-
house, a window-dream— a corner room empty
for breathing
then a balcony of lit
cigarettes, laughter or a broken chair
at the curb now a pile of leaves this day everywhere this
day alive with vanishing