Frozen Ride, Waiting for Spring

Chrome handle bars wear a shroud of white. Keys still warm in my coat

from last September. The garage breeze slow, frost on every pane.

While the engine dreams of open road again. I trace the tire tracks that

never formed. Count the miles I won't be riding through this storm.

She won't roar tonight, just sigh with rust and snow.

Her wheels are frozen where the north wind blows. No throttle song

beneath the moon's cold stare. Just wolves in silence howling in the air.

Gloves hang limp by the door like empty hands. Maps rolled tight with forgotten