Night cycling

Street signs hidden in darkness sigh their names.
Cycling at night I reach a bridge-suicide
demands one last ride, lurid moonlight frames
this graceful dive-well he and my bike died.
Day sleeping I dreamt about riding the strands
of a spiders web-forty bikes I rode
one for each year. I was woken by sounds
of a ghost ringing a cycle bell, code
of charms warned me the reaper was about
to blow away the widow's web. I would keep
my dreams well hidden from death, avoid the routes
he takes. My spirit watchman guards my sleep.
I would create a vehicle with parts
from dreams-lastly a bell as daylight starts.