The Trees Seemed to Breathe More at Night

The trees seemed to breathe more at night.

There was a freshness in the air

like the world was being born again.

Steam billowed from the machine

and danced up

mixing with my breath.

I rode on into the black,

leaves scurrying from the tires,

startled by this strange one-eyed beast.

I always wanted to remember these moments,

alone on the road

the smell of wood-burning somewhere,

and wet cut grass covered with tomorrow’s dew.

Fast I’d ride,

deep into the ghostly night,

wind in my face,

eyes screaming tears,

blurring the sky into diamonds,

and my engine,

in its symphony,

became my silence,

a knife’s edge to the numb world

my blissful blurry road.

xx Atticus

@atticuspoetry 

www.atticuspoetry.com