Awake now.
Opened my eyes and
like in movies
(which I know
something about)
I was confused by
the pale pink ceiling
for a moment.
Boy band posters on the walls.
Butterfly sheets.
Then I remembered.
There's something surreal about
being hit by a ton of bricks.
Not figuratively.
There's something about
the nature of courage
when everyone else is
hanging back
(go ahead, guys, hate me)
and you're the one
running forward.
Isn't that the
nature of Christ?
I want to be
my Lord
always
running forward.
Take me where I need to be.
Take me there.
* * *
Dreamt of you.
You were riding.
The wind in your hair.
The sun glinted off the snaps
on your jacket.
You were intense.
It was raining.
You hit 90.
The sky was deep blue darkling.
It was a Kawasaki
but not a Z1000, a Ninja...
Then you were Brianne.
Your friend. My friend.
And the road turned
bent to the right.
The yellow line like the letter C.
And she had to lay it low
her shins almost brushing
the light speed asphalt.
At the center curve
her hand moves in slow motion
lets go of the bike
open and ready
fingers like feathers
moves into the turn
reaches out to caress the line
which turns into silk ribbon
that lifts from the road
uncoiling for miles
curling up and around
wild with life
woven into wings
that unfurl behind
you riding again.
* * *
Awake now.
Awake.
