the first ride since the accident

we promised to meet
on the west most chocolate bridge
I knew you would be there
early
the railway rusting
below;
your hands dry
on the stone parapet
eyeing the flat broken expanse of loss, sundered
via highway

meanwhile
I suffer
the terrible introversion
of slowly turning legs
and grinding cranks
and the kettle whistle of my breath
behind my scarf

followed by
the delicious heaviness
of a bicycle
at the top of a hill.

you look
very much the little sister
that you are
mussed hair
sprawling about
your bruised shoulders
and chipped teeth
and you say

with a fair amount of mystery

you know what there's a lot of?
Music, in my blood