It would be nice, but all these dreams were actualized on the seat of a vintage Czech Jawa 250. |
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A Harley in My DreamsWind whistling through what hair remainsLaying her over on the curves, expediency given over to exhilaration Tires whine, calling she and I back to places not yet seen A Harley in my dreams Something less at the moment, but the feel is there, that winding two wheeled freedom of life in a sleeping bag Meals caught like wildlife, wherever found Towns fall like leaves in a meandering never ending autumn, Bohemia and climbing, Austria, a flower treasure spilled open, Salzburg, Innsbruck, St. Moritz at a back road pace, in a long slide to Italy and friends The return across French Alps, through ancient Upheaved falling land turned sideways Seven Swiss passes, into cloud and through, breaking sun, breaking my heart, breaking down, patching up, catching breath, wanting home, wanting never home Knowing this is home, wondering at life Stunned that whining tires brought me here, will take me back, bring me once again Maybe next year Spain and maybe not, the plan’s the thing and damn the day wheels stop rolling |
 This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats. |
