CALL ME BELOVED

The truth is more direct –
the void doesn’t call.
It has never needed to –
no siren songs, just
a chasm aching, empty open air
that lurks outside the periphery,
darting across the street –
a dive-bombing starling
oblivious to windshield, or tire,
the quiet is the lure. Just
one jerk of the steering wheel,
a careless step off the curb, one
step too many towards an edge,
just the solemn promise – soon
you could be all stillness, too,
nothing else. Nothing else.