Thought is a tool, 
that I give too much credit. 
I remember what happened, but only vaguely.

Autumn sun 
(passing through billions of miles of atmosphere
and through millions of cells 
comprising thousands of yellow-orange leaves, 
through infinite space between atoms in a 
rain and dirt-stained basement window)

illuminating 
a faint beam of dust, and
one particle lands on the hand
of a child inventing a board game
to play with his mother

She loves him but is busy, and 
she regrets every instance of 
anger towards him,
but it doesn’t matter because
he’s protected by his game, 
by a process, sitting alone
in the basement spotlight. 

Cradle this moment,
this is all that there is; 
just a simple scene
lit beautifully.