The spring snow that never fell last night
doesn't hang heavy in the swollen belly
of the sky. It's not a belly at all,
but a barren tundra looming over us.
And the daffodils it would have covered
aren't a sign of anything. They're plants--
from the Latin, asphodelis. It's not
like the film we saw that time, either,
the one in which the dead girl
came back to life without explanation.
We were angry when the projectionist
confessed he'd switched the reels. Remember?
It could snow or not snow.
The flowers could bloom or not.
What we don't have, we won't talk about.
What we miss never had a name.