Death
She calls me
Cradles me
In her crushing grip
Enabling these pulverized bones
To crumble
To return
To their mutable self
Their earthly Origin
And then
Birth
A new me
Young, Fresh, Wise
Carrying holographic images
Spray painted with knowing
Of a past self
Of a self racked by pain and fear
A self that now understands
How to move
Deftly
Magically
By a navigation system
A voice
That is not alone
A voice that is ‘no voice’
A voice that Is
With a capital ‘I’