Cycling Sestina
A Poem by Amber Lea Starfire, ©2005
Past the rolling lines of golden-leaved vines,
climbing the up-valley hills,
I cycle huffing, breath coming
in gasps, my blood pounding
through vessels that revel in effort;
I don’t want to stop or to rest.
I’m far, far behind the rest
who’ve abandoned the sun-drenched vines.
Riding quietly, quickly, no manifest effort,
they journey over roller-coaster hills,
drumming their rhythm, legs pumping, feet pounding
moving swiftly away while I call, “Wait! I’m coming!”
The rumble of motor bikes coming
makes me swerve to the side where the rest
up ahead also wait. The noisy gas-fired pounding
reverberates, heavy through dense rows of vines,
echoing over the grand-terraced hills,
then fading as riders ride on without effort.
But I would rather feel the effort
and relish the fun that is coming;
I will race down the steep, winding hills
snaking skillfully back with the rest,
singing to the valley of vines,
and to the beat of my own heart pounding.
The earthbound ride is more like rain when pounding
down, like dark clouds spilling effort.
Not like the sleepy vines
their emerging grapes, so silent in the coming,
not like the winter trees at rest,
bare of leaves, and standing starkly on these hills.
This I muse as I push up the hills,
my legs pulling in sync, my blood pulsing and pounding,
finally catching up with the rest
and pleased with the fruits of my effort,
when suddenly whizzing past me they shout, “Are you coming?”
as downward they fly to those golden-leaved vines.
Descending those hills, racing back to the dry-fruited vines
without all the effort, without all the pounding,
we all simply glide, coming euphorically to a well-earned rest.