Copenhagen Bicycles

by Jon Miller

They glide swiftly along the lanes,
upright, as if in armchairs,
scarved and hooded, creatures of wind,
a wheeling flock clustering at junctions,
pausing at traffic lights cold-cheeked,
breathing lightly, hatless, faces glowing
as the wind winnows leaves from the trees,
scattering them before their wheels,
a wind bringing strange birds and, later, snow,
as the North slips down from its high latitudes
and we tilt away from the sun
and they ride on face first into winter dark,
the sky closing its slow eye till Spring.