the sun is writing on my back
with an early morning marker
(yellow-orange, scented like
moist soil and ripened pollen)

and i am writing on my bike
as I take hill after sloping hill
under my tires, the curves beckoning
me to the end of the road.

there she waits, a giant sloth of
spring-muddy water creeping
toward the gulf, either side lush
with full-leafed hardwoods.

i wait for them here, moisture
writing on my back, as i relive
the momentous views, the perfect
ride that I never thought could be here.

the sun is higher now, writing across
the sky its midday mark of southern heat,
and they pop out of the car with hugs,
smiles that we will ride into the night.