How Far Away Is Far Enough

At 2am a siren came in from the east.

I was already awake, the ceiling

a gray blank above me, a car's headlights

moving slowly across it while the sound grew.

Close enough to feel directional.

A few blocks north, then west.

Then smaller, smaller.

I lay still and tracked it

the way you track a plane.

When it went quiet I waited —

for a second one, for something to follow,

for the night to indicate

what had happened a few blocks over

to someone who was fine a minute ago.

Nothing came.

Just the ceiling.

The room.

What I felt was not relief.

It was something next to relief,

and that's the part I'm still sitting with

three hours later, in the same room,

the ceiling the same gray,

no sound.