Sonnet I

The night smelled of dirt and of a wet rain
And the moon hung low heavy with yellow.
Everything was coated with speechless silence
But if you listened closely you could hear:

A soft voice of leafy surf and curb shores.
The breeze nudged the lofty street lights and swam
in the odd night sea with the ghost bikes
that moved like ephemeral jellyfish.

Oh, the bikes were real: iron and rubber
but the riders were so otherworldly.
Souls draped in white robes of burning ether
blessed or Damned by a god or Satan

to pedal for all time (eternity).
Ethereal spokes turning on night's waters.