Poem in which the ice is moving

After a death she says
life is a fat weight.

Remember the thrill of sun on that hill,
ooooooooooooooooooorunning up that hill,
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooan unfolding hand

now living’s more an act of will

I would like to understand oooooodying
ooooooas a new adolescence:
ooooooooooooobodies moving like water
ooooooooooooooooooooowe take whatever transformations
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooremain open to us.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooI would like to say that.

Don’t wait, pretend to be a man who does things
ooooooooooooooooooonot a woman who feels things
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosaying hello, hello.

A fir tree grows
oooooooin a red rose halo
oooooooooooooooas winter sun goes down:
ooooooooooooooooooooooso much happens without us

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooI’m a cloud of breath
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooovanishing in sight:

oooooooooooooooooooooplay onoooooooobe that song.

Even the ice keeps quickening
oooooooooooooooooooin its hard skin
oooooooooooooooooooooooooeverything is moving:

oooooooooooooooooooat midnight, the whole road glitters
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooas if it’s still going somewhere.

Rebecca Varley–Winter