Mostly, we forget.
Mostly, the singular moments
that felt so important—
remarkable, even—
slip like raindrops
into a pond.
Most of my life
is blur, is watercolor.
But let me clearly remember
tonight, dying my daughter’s
hair blue, singing along
to the radio, laughing
about nothing in particular.
What I want to remember
is how little it takes
to make a moment light up
from within, light up
like dew infused by the sun—
each moment a teacher,
our own home the temple.