A Methodical Life

There is a method to starting a bike. A deliberateness, a pause, before every step. Keenly detecting flecks of dust, dried droppings Of crows, of oil leaked and sticking like paste Mixed, with the finest of grains Wiping it all clean.

Flipping back the stand, inserting the key And turning it right, assured of the green light, You depress the lever; throttle closed, Carefully pressing your foot down on the kicker You pause – again, before bringing it down again Gently, but firmly and swiftly, Listening to the plug catching a spark. As the engine sputters to life, you listen to the thuds, even. With such intimacy, with almost love, you listen To the throb; your bike is alive.

In the mornings, waking up, unwilling to let go my dreams, Listening to my breath, I wish I had a method A deliberateness, an awareness Of my life The way I started my bike.