I biked home with silk. The late night was so silky, silk-spun, silk-fed, as silky as I was. All was clear and translucent, the moon fuller than it had been, and all along I went without plans. I was not frightened by this; my self-assurance was a background seamless with the silken night. How the path went I did not care; whatever way would be fine, would lead me home, would.
For I was grace with the night, I was motion. I was the sweetness of spring, I was sweetness. I was activity, pure and simple, the joy of acting in concert with nature. Opposing nothing, I imposed upon nothing.
Which bridge, I thought. Which would be present when I came to it? I was not on Vanderbilt, it appeared, so it would not be the Queensborough. I noted that I was heading toward downtown, so it might be the Brooklyn or the Manhattan. I desired neither more than the other. I was not pulled in either direction and did not weigh my options. I rode and sensed, sensed night and legs. I rode. Whatever happened would be fine. The question was as nothing.
And here I was, circling up the Manhattan Bridge, then riding not toward the Hudson but sliding up the Lower East Side. Around me from the East Village to Midtown were drunken women and clumsy men flagging cabs and grinning. Around me were yellowings and reddenings and turnings and Bloomberg’s playful bike lanes turning this way and that. All the while, there was seamlessness and the near-full moon aloft.
Where were they, these high-pitched women and sodden men? Where were they, these lonely lost? Nowhere, they were nowhere, but they had fucking on them and fog rolling over them. And I? Where was I? Ah! I was one with the night, unplanning, silken, moving whatever which way, understanding ‘whatever which way’ as a blessedness. I? I was there, I was there, my friend, without wishes or cares or concerns, I so silken with the night that I would never stop until the end. I would go on until I came to the end of the island and pedaled off into the dark water or until my tires came to rest in front of my home.