Between the blades of grass
On a sun-rich day
Where flowers are done blooming
And the hare hop free in spades
There is an open meadow
Where memories are made
And magic tends to happen
In early June, late May

we are an infinite                regress
    of reflections and           refractions
    of actions and         reactions
         complex       fractions
of interference     patterns    
and mathematical    interactions  
intricately intersecting    connections      
   branching on   tracks
through the     confusing   profusion       
of this soothing     illusion   we create      
            of reality     being a   place         
tessellating in   parallel  space   
               like an  abstract fractal  
in an interdimensional tesseract
reflecting back on itself forever