Return at Dusk on a Motorbike
Nudged close to noon, a rainbow chinned the cloud - beyond where the mile-gobbling thunder ran is the get up and go of the grass, now standing proud of the hill it had hurried from. We began to observe the tide's taut handling of the shore, scrubbing off old tread along the rounded bay; wave snaps the heels of wave while the grippy pack worries the soft stones down the drifting day. Now at gone ten a small cloud crabs away, a tree, skew to the rock, glows out in black; a dead bell flower, its tung tweaked, wrung from hope, squeezed into rag, peels its pale anthers back. A June bug briskly idles down the falls that gently drift from sheerness to a slope; the crisp uneven lilt of the waves, the calls of crickets, while the nipped up night grows stiff splashed by the plonking of a backwashed skiff.
(Images in Return at Dusk on a Motorbike were extracted from an article in a motorcycling magazine: chin the bank, needle nips up, mile-gobbling potential, get-up-and-go, taut handling, scrubbing off tread-rubber, lines up with grippy surface, fron wheel crabs on the skew, tweak, gently drifting (understatement), tickover, to peak v. brisk idling, plonked up the gear, crisp uneven lilt.)