Sometimes, as we rode
the beaches, palm trees, and green hills
turned into a black abyss
as uncertainty and unfamiliarity made us unsure
which way to go.
Then, like a rope dangled down to a tired swimmer,
like a cup of coffee to a weary studier,
like a wind-blown dollar bill to a hungry hobo,
like a chunk of Kryptonite to Lex Luthor,
like salt to a bland bowl of chile,
A guiding light would flash us by
decorated in brilliant neon spandex
and expensive sunglasses, shielding the rider from its own brightness:
all the signs of somebody who knows whats up.
And we would follow the light,
Our North Star,