Still, not yet, only in my mind. One day, later, perhaps, in some reality not yet here. This one, or that one, or another. Somewhere in a garden of lilies and roses with a hawk swirling, sailing, in the thermal rising, drifting soundless above the pool, it's fountain singing, calling, sending us to a realm of sweet relief from the cares and worries that bring us, bind us, here, somewhere in all that not yet specified outside the whim of the one troubled mind, a homeward looking angel will stand, waiting, watching, reminding. Smiling when we know, we find, we see our time.