The years roll by

and I remember less and less

of the more and more

that happened.

The shelves of memory

are too full

for all the items to be seen.

So I let float to mind

what comes,

look at it fondly or sadly,

and appreciate that long ago

moment making a visit

to this moment--

this moment, this moment,

is always the most wondrous, 

though, made up of not what happened oh so long ago,

but of right now--

this touch, this breath, this slow wandering step,

this is what I cherish,

being aware of this,

this is what makes me happy.