In the arrival of spring without winter,
I feel I do not deserve
birdsong and sunlight on cheeks
unbitten by frost.
Spring is only spring when
it emerges out of melting icicles
snow evaporating off of crushed grass.
But this year,
Snow never came.
When too-early daffodils emerge,
I wish
in the desert wrongness
for winter.
I grieve for
a snowman never built.