Only on a Motorcycle

Freedom blows through 

my mind and hair as we fly 

tandem on the white line

where tunnel of trees 

makes a canopy. Inviting

blue triangle of open sky

above and open road 

ahead.

Tidy fields 

with perfumed rows

of cut hay wrap scent 

thick about my head.

May I trade an exotic turban 

for this helmet prison?

Mist from the waterfall

cools my skin better than
cucumber spa facials.

Maidenhair ferns blush

when I puzzled over the 

cliff they chose for

their conjugal bed.

Clinging only to each other and

wet rock, without soil,
they brazenly multiply.

Taking one home

became temptation sore. 

Succumbing would rob another. 

No trophy from the forest 

lined my satchel. Only memories 

came back.

New kind of lichen to like

  found beside a bridge 

never crossed before

where witches hair covered a tree.

Glacier water, strange color 

of mystic green 

 much too cold  

for a selkie to 

swim in.  

Fairy house neighborhoods 

growing heart rocks bigger than you 

or me.