The Road Ends Here

The horizon cancels it out entirely—

one moment straight, the next

tilted like a loan payment,

this overhand mere breath before.

The steering wheel is as familiar to my hands

as prayer beads; yet out of the blue

the compass of the dashboard whips to its own fury,

over and under like magnetic north has simply

pulled stakes.

The yellow line disappears

into air as thick as honey

and as tall as the pause between

I love you and but—

Futures rest in

that silence.

What's behind me: the absolute flat certainty

of who I was this morning,

coffee still warm in the holder,

songs I knew all the words to

What's ahead: the road drops

like a held note

just now released,

like the second after

we have to talk when

the whole world

rebends itself

around the shape of things forthcoming

I keep my foot above the brake

but don't step on it.

Don't touch it.

That's gravity for you:

not pulling but pushing

not steadily down but suddenly discovering

that you've never been

holding on after all.

The speedometer climbs higher.

The engine drops a register,

slipping into its next gear

in the steady orrery

of descent.

And I think about all the times

standing at the edge of swimming pools

over the water had to be colt: jumped

anyway.

The rear-view shows

only sky now,

blue till it goes on forever,

already,

to all intents and purposes

out of reach.

There's no going back:

no plain to re-find,

no arch to reverse

bringing is now

when the road down

as a man tells a secret,

as the truth you've been keeping

to yourself

comes home to roost.

Resting on the wheel, my hands fold steady.

Twenty feet ahead the line comes back,

the faithful tightrope

pointing up the steep.

This is the moment:

the engine sings,

the whole world leans forward,

what gravity knows

that gravity sees

that gravity can do best -

pulled everything again

toward it, beautiful!

I take off the brake.