A LIFE WITH STORIES

Hers was a multilayered life
with stories,
and thanks to Florine,
so too is mine.

I rode a bike to the peak
of a pristine mountaintop,
somewhere in Germany,
on a sunshiny September morning
in a companionless bike lane
aside an unbroken road.

A speck of a shadow,
in the early morning stillness
a mile down the road,
had little meaning before
mutating into a machine
and invading my space,
like a coyote
closing in on its prey.

It happened quickly,
but methodically,
in staggering slow motion.
An approaching car
wrathfully changed lanes
to trespass in mine,
until I was face to face
with violent eyes
and the stuff of bad dreams.

Before the car could make contact,
I hurriedly swerved my bike off the road,
gracelessly tumbling
into the low tide
of an abandoned field,
like a Chaplin scene
in a silent movie.

Out-stretched on the earth,
I was too shaken to feel anything,
not even bewilderment.
No one saw me
except for that phantom shadow
in the distance,
moving down the road.

I will never know
the story behind the story, that day,
but have learned,
from Florine's unparalleled life,
to fully appreciate the passage
from one day to another.

All I know is:
I keep riding,
I ride to keep riding
beyond the mountain,
in search of sunlight
and the poetry
of a life with stories.

© JOHN PISCATELLA