Pivot

The hill does not move,

yet I feel it lean.

Gravel holds its hush,

the way a secret leans forward

before it breaks.

Air gathers like cloth

caught in a sudden wind.

The brake hums under my foot

a low animal waiting.

Behind me, the map folds itself,

roads retreating into paper silence.

I can taste rain in the distance,

a metal shimmer

like coins at the bottom of a well.

Somewhere ahead

the guardrail bends inward,

inviting and unafraid.

I think of every moment

I almost turned back:

a phone ringing in a dark house,

a name I could not say,

a door left half-closed.

Each one a hinge,

each one a held breath.

Now the horizon tips,

a bowl spilling its light.

Headlights thin to needles.

Even the stars feel angled,

their cold fire sliding toward me.

This is the instant

before gravity claims the wheel,

before decision becomes descent.

No thunder, no applause

only the sure pivot

of what was

into what is.

I exhale,

and the road,

finally,

begins.