My lover hates the brown Earth and stark trees
While I yearn for everything to be swaddled in white.
Peaceful, quiet white.
Tomorrow the robins will show their freckled faces
and poke holes around the weeds in my yard.
Already what has been sleeping while my fingers sought
snowflakes that never flew, has awakened on this
Fool’s Day. I surrender. That blanket of ice
will have to come another day.