Return

​
Two figures stand
on the median
of a thoroughfare.
Roughly round, they stare
like others of their clan,
stone-bright in the stony air.

Until the sun boils
us to desert residue,
snowmen will return,
reruns of last year’s cast.

When sand’s the only substance
left, we’ll sculpt sand statues
for their day of sun.
We’ll make ourselves
and make ourselves
as if to will away the fate
of flesh — mutable as snow.