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’