.
Salt crust
On the floor under the bike
Unused for a month
Oil crud & salt
Along the gutters
Early March
Pain evenly
Distributed along the back
More pain
Making time
Across distance
Along a path
Some snow
Fallen given a delicate
Wind chime
Cough not cold
The road jitters
Skin raw
After a long ride
Licking salt from her face
Broken skin
Alcohol exhaled
Harsh breath bone bruised
Lip split
Shirt sour
After two days riding
Continued effort
Flat pain
Dull light missing Yoshie
Possibly morning
The cup cold
Until water heats it
Tea steeps
A hot shower
Then dry towels and
A clean pressed shirt
Silence not
Memory as night angles
Fade to light
You are here
As much as I can bear
You not being here
(Patricia Highsmith The Price of Salt filtered through Michael Snow’s Wavelength).
