i can see the past
the one,
i once made in the shed
the i cradled in a winter bed

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yet in another way –
it is the sharpest implement
twisting,
as it goes in

you are out riding your bike
riding to another town
i miss you so much

our soap opera
it plays out
to weary and bored viewers

i just wish you would believe
riding this steed
as i do,
across life

with your infectious smile
you could look for love
with a man who has an inner child

i hear the sound –
of stone upon glass
i look out and watch those –
who are throwing the stones

together,
we have built a craft
and it has set me free
even though i know my past

the trouble is,
i do not have the fuel in the tank
not to take me down straights
and corners so banked