Round we go—
ice humming,
tires drumming,
lean low,
lean low.
Spokes flick silver
in the rink-light glow,
a pulse,
a blur,
a breath turned snow.
Round we go—
edges whisper,
rubber grips,
muscles whisper
don’t let go.
Bank the curve,
trust the freeze,
let speed carve arcs
from winter’s knees.
Round we go—
drafting shadows,
chasing echoes,
feeling time
begin to slow.
Then push—
push harder—
into the curve’s white roar,
and spin the circle open
like a widening door.
Round we go—
ice singing,
lungs burning,
wheels ringing
victory’s vow
in every turn
we sow.