Dream work

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.

Night cycling