bicycle wheels

bicycle wheels pushed against young 

(already knobbly and weathered, wary of the world outside their tangled branches)

cedar trees, outside of a neat, military blue house, perfectly angled and squared, its eyes two symmetrical windows spaced with care -- a house that recoils at dirty footprints and shies away from the sun.

*

bicycle wheels pushed against young

(already curving, mingling, budding, excited to be alive and with each other, curious and fearless about the world outside their tangled branches)

cedar trees, outside of a careless butter-yellow home, unnaturally angled and squared, its eyes two uniquely tinted windows spaced with care -- a house that doesn't care about mud and earth and smiles up at the sun.

*

bicycle wheels in between these houses and in between these homes, bicycle wheels made with love, bicycle wheels made with spokes of iron will and gears of easy-spinning, easy-going truth, bicycle wheels, bicycle wheels, bicycle wheels.

*

bicycle wheels pushed against young cedar trees

captured by one poet and one artist, their fingers red and stiff with cold, yet still clutching their pencils like the world depends on it,

and yes,

maybe the world does depend

on this one poet and one artist,

but these bicycle wheels

most definitely do.