The Tiny Shell In Which I Died

I died inside that tiny shell

inching my way 

with my fingertips first

arching my back against

its smooth sides

finding the spiral

grow smaller

I found the words

etched along the way

and sounded out

their meanings

as I went, wounded,

echoing lost things

collecting bits of paper

to give those words

something to hold on to

my eyes failed me

but my lips

continued to move

issuing sounds

I had once heard

In that tiny shell

where we all die

shed ourselves

and break through