Friday, June 3, 2016

Biking with Cezanne

He moves quickly, conscious
only of the pedals’ noise,
the clicking of the gears,
all other noise folded
into a silence,

and he sees the blurs of trees
smudged like Cezanne, and
a bridge like Monet’s, and
color like Renoir’s, and
this race has become
a painting, color
overwhelming lines, color
controlling motion and speed and

he becomes one
with the color,
he swirls
into a blending
of muscle and machine
and speed,
the air alive around him,
the air on fire,
a fire of brilliant blue
and green and enough
of yellow for contrast
and definition and focus, and

as he crosses the line
the watches click his time.

He lays down the brush.

Photograph by Lubos Houska via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

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