Certain nights
when I am still working
until after the sun has set
I exit
& am lit by the street lights
that are scattered round the parking lot
as I liberate my bicycle
The air seems to cool
as I hurtle down the streets
pedaling possibly toward
a warm dinner
prepared by able hands
tired, weary eyes
in all of the rooms
my loved one waiting
in our bed sheets
up the stairs
the moon sometimes
sets her eyes upon me
in the gaps between the buildings
that rise from the earth
the traffic lights don't mean much
when I am the only one
with my tires on the pavement
red means go
as does yellow
Only one thing is ever certain
The incandescent illumination
that reminds me
I am almost home.
The Christmas Light Crucifix
at the end of my street
reminds me that most of
what is on my mind
is meaningless.
