TWIG IN TIME

 

Sometime,

Most likely

When the storm hit night,

It fell

Down

On the soft dirt trail.

At dawn,

A sleek

Italian bike,

It’s multi gears with

Fine turned ratios

Driven fast

By a body of lycra sinew,

Blue as a hummingbird’s glinting—-

Topped bright red,

With a pierced

Insect helmet

Wired for music

And oblivious

To the ever swift changing

Now.

Whirring wheels

Made over the tiny twig.

Mauve/silver bark

Peeled back;

It’s collection

Of pale jade lichens

Scattered

In broken jewels of delicate color.

The rust-red

Dead core

Snapped.