It is not about looking into the murky pond searching for the silver scaled fish: one memory at a time, one entrant at the door waiting for your attention. Light is not a pinpoint, it pours in a torrent; the windswept valley becomes a funneled receptacle.
Make an origami, fold papers, and make wings to slice the clear space in your heart. Like a wasp thoughts drone, elliptical grooves mark your shell. But ridges over time smoothen; certain things fall away, unimportant: like, time and questions.
Poem A Day