Detour

         Along back roads,
low branches, snow-weighted,
         skim the car’s roof
                  with a fade
and groove as if a waning beat
could signal closure and we’d
be done for good         with things.
I loved you most in winter.
                  That hum
         of sleet and tires.
         The uncertainties of ice
and a         narrow road.
         The phone’s bad connection.
         Your voice breaking up.

Share!