That day you flew down the street,
bicycle wheels humming as you leaned
into the curve and the earth’s plane
skewed, the flat ground standing up
to vertical as you floated sideways
until your knee hit the pavement
and shed its outworn skin.
Still, you sped on,
standing with your feet in space,
your head toward a lowered sun
that pours fiery paint down the road—
black top a mere wall below you
that confirms the looseness of earth’s
grip on your aging, no-longer immortal
body, which still thrums, bird-light,
as you catch lift and rise into the air.