My daily ride to Sand Island
Is now a pleasant memory:
Beautiful, nameless wildflowers
Led the way on both sides of me
And their commingled fragrances
Intoxicated my senses-
Numb insubstantiality:
Reality doesn’t exist
in this fantastical stupor.
I was still mindful of peddling
But in an autopilot mode:
Safe, yet lost in dreamlike
Thought where past, present and future
continued in the same time-frame.