Soft Asphalt When I Breathe

The soft asphalt narrows,

sharp as a knife held tight between fingers, a breath held for life,

Sun setting low, beneath the hills, long shadows wavering through ancient trees

I notice my fingers tightening on the wheel,

My Garmin watch says breathe, tells me that stress is high,

How could it not be?

The world tilts forward, my heart splits,

I see the curve, I hear a crack of whisper,

My foot is searching wildly for the brakes,

I see the drop, but from the outside of myself,

Do I just stop in air? Do I let go of holding tight?

The sun tilts, and the horizon bends into the unknown,

My last words "just breathe!"