A forest in the crook of every tree
On each petal, a garden
Is the whirl of earth and universe,
Acts we’ve truly starred in?
What’s the smallest spec of consciousness?
Inspect it with temerity.
Dark matter’s truly ominous,
Viewed in self-similarity.
Where’s the center? Where to start?
The Hub of Light? The axle?
Doesn’t matter much, which part,
Since everything is fractal.
In sum, in parts, a statement
About all that is and was,
A poem with no abatement,
Just because.
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