We are the Bicyclists

By Ben Weaver. Full transcript below.

I come up in the bottoms
Through the brambles, the streets, and the singletracks
The river carries it’s shoulders out through the fields
Everytime it rains the crows post on snagwood and swallow stones from the holes in an old lightning bolt’s shoe

We’re the new great explorers who the saw the legs off, sit on the ground
Plant water and moon smoke in our shoulder blades and pedal joints
We wade in the stems like sunlight, rope swings, towless swims and rooster crows passing in apple trees

We go forward by circles bounding by and by as salt and lotion collects on our skin
Going back up cloudless coming back down again as fish tails and black eyed peas
We live like coyotes listening to sage brush counting the days between rain
We know the weather by being out in it
We know the way by watching it unravel
As a white horse shows red dust or an orange thread pulls from the seam

We’re the new great explorers
Seeds of sun expanding in the shadows
Places where the rivers come together and herons listen to frogs and spiders
We make the wind exist
We make blue sky out of our breath

Through the brambles the streets and the singletracks
We claim the day with our legs
We are the new great explorers
We are the bicyclists