Homeward Bound

I’m going home tomorrow
by the cold grey light of dawn.
On my motorbike tomorrow
if I can beat the stirring storm.
Down cold long straights of asphalt
until mystique mountain pass.
I’m going home tomorrow
I’m homeward bound a last.

The wind! It whistles through me
icicle stabbing chilling cords
it plays along sprung spine.
Cheeks like glazed ice
nose numb and blue
from frigid mountain air.
Crisp and fresh this morning
this newborn winter’s day.
The stillness frozen
to a depth beyond mute ear.

Swerving round razored corners
leaning into wicked bends
picking off cramped cars
I’m glad that I’m not in.
Ice on the road now
black ice up ahead
just one mistake now
and I could be dead.
Riding on my luck
steadily slowing down
it’s my experiential skill alone
that kept me off cruel ground.

A hawk soars above me
she guides me on my way
white clouds puffed around her
in honour of this day.
The white lines race toward me
the fence posts flash on past
the crunch of gravel under tyres
I’m homeward bound at last.