We hardly ever mention

The myriad dimensions

Perhaps all just extensions

Of the one we know and love


Most traverse one exclusively

Or seek out more, reclusively

They hide so unobtrusively

Below, between, above


Sometimes we must long for them

Perhaps they’re where we once have been

And parts of us remember when

The skies above were teal


But we rarely stop to take a breath

Or see the world with all its depth

And time and vision is all our breadth

Of what is and not real

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