By Christine Jensen
Pushing
Pedalling
Powering
Past
Blast after blast
of thick cake-batter air
Surrounded on all sides as my
Skin slides into the invisible
Blanket of warm wind
Assessing Life like a billion
Unseen tentacles.
Sky, an unbelievable blue, shouts
"Make your hand a shovel,
Shoot it up here and scoop
Out a delicious hunk of heaven."
Swollen with that unthinkable blue,
Sky spills itself into
My imaginary scooper and I
Taste sky.
Two twin tires
Ride the hide of
A gigantic asphalt animal.
Patched cracks are the black
Stripes of a Bengal tiger sliding
In the opposite direction.
The cement pelt slips by--silent--and I
Halfway expect to glide right off
The tip of the tail!
I sail in between the two and
Control the machine that is
My body, empowered
By the pace,
Communing with the Spirit
That makes the cake-batter blasts.
Intention
By Kay Ryan
Intention doesn't sweeten.
It should be picked young
and eaten. Sometimes only hours
separate the cotyledon
from the wooden plant.
Then if you want to eat it,
you can't.
