The Migration of Bicycles
I have seen them flash among cars or lean
so low into the curved wrist of the road
to brake would kill them, yet a whole pack
will stand for hours in the rain
yoked to each other, chained to the rack
till the shops close. I have seen
them balanced on one foot like a clam,
the front wheel turned, at ease. It waits
like a severed centaur, for lover or thief
to give it a running push, shift gears, and ride
off with the Great Bear and the full moon
hooping the earth, winding the spring tide.
Copyright Credit: Nancy Willard, "“The Migration of Bicycles”" from In the Salt Marsh (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004)