Yesterday, a cloud that’s lost its place

By going back, we stand in defiance of grace

It has put us in this moment’s arms

Few venture to discover its charms

Yesterday, a song that’s already been sung

It is articulated by the mind’s tongue

We cannot get enough, it seems

It’s the stuffing, of our dreams

Yesterday, a tree that’s shed every leaf

It is where we store the roots of grief

They grow into the present, and return

As the ashes of peace, the mind becomes an urn

Yesterday, a flower yet to bloom

It will take up all the mind’s room

When we water it with attention

We stay in that imaginary dimension