The Evening Rider

Something in the soft silence
soothes the soulful rider;
darkness drapes the dew fallen leaves
as he slips away into the night.
While the trail is clear
No one knows where he came from,
Nor where he goes.
The dark shape shifts in the trees,
Never changing, never the same.
He moves through the forest
Silent as the soaring eagle.
His purpose unknown.
His joy like a horse.
His bike is breath itself.
For this rider
The start does not matter.
The finish does not matter.
He is alive!
And nothing else matters!

-Anthony Signorelli