And my legs are circles spinning over the ground

Promising me speed, making me believe that I can fly

Oh, the flow, the flow!

They will take me further than my feet,

Are an extension of my feet

This wheels

They rest

Solid yet week

As my feet

They will carry me today,

When slowly I carry my head around

With eyes promising to see

My blindness.

(We are probably not used to hope or trees while our collective imagination is telling us where is the place where we are mean to create. In my dreams, I imagine myself riding my bike through Baja California and writing poetry to the waves, but it's in this cold home office with no proper heating, cold feet touching the cold, and the floor where I sit to write daily. Whilst, when I ride my bike or when I run, I make poetry in my head, my brain soon will then forget, as I enter my home again)

Thank you for sharing this amazing piece, Shringi.

PP