If I Can’t Tell You

Plumes of white spun across
the highway as I travelled in the
opposite direction;
shards of snow looked sharp,
I wanted to say,
but we were apart and away.
A hawk flew over, feathers
at the ends of her wings splayed
like fingers,
like the way I’m
moved to reach for you now.
I continued forward,
the universe surrounded
with motion and light,
and I couldnt tell you anything,
and it all seemed odd because
if I can’t tell you it seems
the world should halt,
but it never does.
The tiny demons continue
their march somewhere beneath
the nape of my neck,
birds fly, snow blows, and
in the distance church bells toll.
My fingers open and close,
grasping for what
I do not know.