The Catch in the Mechanism

Just as the world tilts forward on its axis,

a subtle click in the chassis of the day,

the road not climbing now but offering itself

to the pull of something hungrier below.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

This is not the curve you see coming,

the one you downshift for, hands at ten and two.

This is the one that reveals itself

only by the sudden absence of guardrail,

the way the gravel shoulder gives itself

to the empty air without a sound.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The pines stand witness, sharp and dark,

their green a verdict, not a comfort.

The late sun catches the chrome and glass

of a single car, a mile down and moving away—

a tiny, fleeting anchor in the deepening blue.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Your breath becomes a separate thing,

a caught bird in the cage of your chest.

The map on the passenger seat is just paper now,

its careful lines obsolete, its destinations

suddenly quaint. All that remains

is the angle of descent, the hum of asphalt,

the certain, silent knowledge

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

that the brake is a suggestion,

that the wheel is a wish,

and that the universe, in its infinite patience,

has finally decided to stop holding your hand.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You have not pressed the pedal.

Not yet.

But your foot has already forgotten its weight,

has already chosen the fall.