Impossible impasse:

your guitar case kicks at knee level,

one thumb in the air.  Both eyes marooned

on the taillights ahead.

The callous cold.  The gloves too thin.

Red numb thumbs exposed to a curse

the woods shouts out to everyone

who walks near here this time of year.

There must be ice in a person’s life. 

No, I hear a waterfall.  An irregular heart

beat even the trees can sense

when a driver in a pickup

slows down, takes a look and

then speeds off

as if she’s seen the future.