Ride to Burgeo

Blue and wheeless,
a school bus rests
in a road-side gravel pit.
The morning light reveals
the dark mountains.
Cliffs pour out,
an open scar
on low green skin.
Broken-bone hills
bend the headwind in.

I picture myself
from above,
cruising silently down
this Caribou Highway.
A single trail of prints
follows in the thin dirt
right of the white line,
until hundreds are stamped deeply
between guard-rails –
openings in the foothill forest.

I imagine my pedal strokes match their stride.


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