A small displacement changes the speaker's sense of direction and leaves them with a new, incomplete orientation.
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The lesson arrives sideways. No bell, no page, no teacher. A line of light misses the wall and lands across my shoes. I follow it until the road ends. There, the world is still tilted. There, I stop correcting it.
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A crossing-at-night poem about moving when the signal changes and choosing action over waiting.
A platform-side poem about a last train, a softened ticket and the light of other lives moving beyond reach.
A late-night road poem about taking the wrong exit, leaving an old stopping place behind and continuing without a map.
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