pedaling

moving forward on my bicycle

i look ahead

i see the boundaries of the street converge

a trick of perspective

i am young

i ponder and ask

not in so many words

but ask

will i reach the point of convergence

no

it recedes as i proceed

i look behind me

i see the same trick of perspective

i ask

if i am between these two points of convergence

and if i will reach neither

where am i

am i lost

i am lost

dislocated

time flutters and slows

colors invert

sound is wrapped in cotton

then roars

a weight bears upon me

a car 

a horn

i feel the weight pass

it's mrs pink

she waves

there is my house

my yard

my mother's car in the driveway

grass is green

sky is blue

i know where i am

i pedal

home

tasting copper