church

under some
skeletal trees
dreaming of
their sugar-
spun ballroom
days

a man on a
sly spindle bicycle
push-pedaled
his voice
shadowy beside me
a steely permafrost

come on, —
i’ll race you
lady

and though i hyper focused
on catching that
slick-wit peddler
he vaporized straight ahead

forcing
my unforced forfeit
at this ghost turn

::