You on a bike by the beach at Copacabana,
peddling by me, young, and wicked, and strong, and smiling.
Me peddling after, into the headwind, watching,
lapsing behind you, happy and sad, and smiling
as you gain distance.

A rainstorm is coming; the waves come arcing
in high white tumbling beachward, resolute, pursuing
the bathers who flee ashore, as the clouds assemble
over Pao de Açucar. And I ride on, pursuing
happiness and you.

Happiness and you
are ahead in the headwind; and I think of you smiling,
and the distance there used to be between Copacabana
and me, and how I closed that, and this one, smiling,
as I see you waiting ahead of me, me peddling, you watching.