![Photo of woods in winter looking through trees at high-rise buildings.](/sites/writinguniversity.org/files/styles/no_crop__768w/public/2021-08/Timmy%20Straw_Solitary.jpeg?itok=00JkdGxg)
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.