Intentions of the morning bright with goal,
which evening burnished dreaming through the night,
are paled by noon and later less than whole,
diminished as the west retires light.
So this determination too will fold,
and unremembered will be this regret,
unless I figure out a way to hold
a morning’s purpose so I can’t forget.

For like the fairy godmother ignored
and uninvited to the naming rite,
the power muse is banished from the board
by habit’s ignorance: her appetite
misunderstood, her power simmering
until released by my remembering.