Fingers, Flower Petals and Hooves

What will this lump of wet gray brain remember in its nights?
In its cave. where it crouches, and waits
"I" the mystery that call itself "Me" will remember the fingers of the dancers, their arms waving like seaweed, bourne on currents I know, but can't see.
And when my daughter puts the lei around my neck.
I will remember her trotting through the Eucalyptus trees on the bay horse, my horse, she is riding by herself for the first time, turning to look back at me.
And the sunlight. I will remember the way it melts over me like a caress.
And the waves. Sandpipers running with stick legs away. Pelicans diving from so high.
I will remember sitting next to my daughter eating the lunch I made us. And the joke I told about the Jack Russel Terrier and the Frog, and how we started laughing and couldn't stop.
And how scary it was, but how funny it now is, that time when Terylyn lost control of the rope and the stallion galloped up to the Marching Band.