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Is "Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday" but tomorrow is the sorrow that flowers arent around even the birds, even the air, the water, humankind. Or tomorrow is simply today in a cycle that never ends. We're all on coils asleep, awake, eating—forgetting— Around and ahead or is it behind, I wish the coil was Around and behind, tomorrow becomes yesterday: that is the Romantic in me, how gorgeous the Dark Ages, Now that seems defeatist even if they were illuminated, And the music both in and out the Church was bouncy. I guess I'd rather go forward picking up the backward as I go, If I go anyplace with absence of power-money Only me, a family, a house, and gardens, some friends determined, where yesterday always becomes today, today.