our god of Deisher Lane 

when i was
eleven i could bike
the circumference of
the earth--
tennis balls 
in my pockets--
started top the hill
on Deisher
Lane--
road the momentum
all the way to 
Turkey Hill 
where we stopped 
& you kissed me 
with cold slushie lips--
let's turn blue;
it's october now after all
i paper-clipped
Pokemon cards
to my spokes--
revered the engine  
inside a dream--
plucked leaves
off holly bushes--
the sidewalk contorted 
until it turned to
a gravel trail to drive
through 
all the world's forests--
rubber trees &
taiga & fern--
jaguars chased
the smack smack smack
of my playing card motor
& oh the edge of
the world was
across
the concrete
bridge-- 
the one
that over looked
222-- & the cars
rushed
beneath us like
sea monsters
from 16th century 
cartography--
this is the new world--
this is the edge we'd fallen
off of--
our ships are 
made of driftwood &
egg cartons--
the salt water wind 
kicked 
king-sized Reese-cup wrappers 
&
Lays chip bags
into the air-- they 
float
like jelly fish--
undulating between
the wheels
of travelers
who are also on a
route of
constant 
circumnavigation--
on the smug brick face of
the high school
my father 
& i played
wall ball-- our
bikes
entangled beneath
a chestnut tree--
pounding pounding 
on the stone--
pounding on the back
step of heaven
to ask god to
keep us company in
our town 
as wide as 
the world--
when you're
eleven & your
bike is unbound by
gravity 
& sometimes
accidentally takes
flight--
i found myself
riding
the arched shoulders
of the great wall of china--
pedaling beneath the
Eiffel tower--
biking on the 
surface of the ocean 
& never sinking--
oh god i bike on 
water--
the creek by my
house is filled with
holy water--
i go 
alone sometimes-- 
tennis ball 
in my fist
& it gets colder
& it gets november &
the world uses a 
brown belt
to hold up it's  
dress pants-- 
i stand & with mismatched
gloves
i hurl the tennis balls--
neon planets
at the brick--
crack-smack-thump 
at the front door
of heaven 
to throw until 
the sunset blushes
at my persistence--
god is a quiet god
who takes the bounce
out of tennis balls &
flattens tires--
when i was eleven the
world was only as high
as the hill on
Deisher Lane--
shifting into a high gear
to climb--
i gained speed 
on trexler ave--
felt the bike leave
the ground--
engine smacking--
it was god to
lifted me &
laid my blue
bike down on
the porch
when i
got home