It was one of those years when we had more
Snow in March than in January, when
One wondered for how long one could keep
Being surprised that it was another day,
Still alive. Of course, any entity wondering,
Barring AI, would have to be alive, but that
The day had gone on and another arrived
While oneself was still alive was somehow
Always a surprise. And after the mild winter,
When snow fell from days in late March,
One was even more surprised that a world
So trivially fickle could display itself as if
It were a great work in progress, as if it might
Have something interesting up its sleeve,
Have something to say to someone, hidden,
That someone might have reason to believe.
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