Sunday, August 8, 2021
Photo of woods in winter looking through trees at high-rise buildings.
Photo by Timmy Straw


of and beyond no singular path am I, through
twisted road and intertwined.
A soul submerged as spirit flies.

There exists only first steps and all are mine.

While moving among creatures less inclined to accept

a world that is immodestly fine,

I catch myself becoming,

if not sublime,

Then in time,

with infinite perceptions.