Path

How would I know my own destination?

It is enough for me to set out

To get there

Somehow,

Knowing that in my arrival is my end.

My names are

This Way

Follow Me.

SHELL

I would have left the me that was then

Clinging to a crack in the bark of the tree,

Stiffening in wind, in the light translucent,

A brittle shell that had the shape of me;

And down the back a split through which had burst

A new creature, from mean appearance free,

Swaying now where the topmost boughs of the tree sway

At the center of the sound that's at the center of the day.