Ophelia

O but memory is not one but many —

Rain, sun, memory a long music we have made

and will make again,   

over and over,  […]

for to memory there is no end.  […]

  Snow falls. 

So: I will go on in the snow.

 I will have my hope with me.

I look up,

as  if I could see the snow as it falls,

  as if I could keep my eye on a little of it

and see it come down

all the way to the ground.

The snow flowers are all like each other and I cannot keep my eyes on one.

I will give up this and go on. 

I will go on. (7)