DEAD AGAIN

we are all born
again
our meager dust
gathered
by the gods,
our remnants,
bright and dark,
stitched
into
some strange
garment
through which run
threads of vague
recollections,
impressions
we don't
dare acknowledge,
compulsions rising
as though from
deepest
densest bone

idibera,
born of ice
and rock,
infant soul
cast
among
the ancients
that they might
scratch your
name in stone,
maiden queen
of cold
and hunger,
fire maker,
lover, mother
plain as dirt,
sacred as any,
another
fair pilgrim
wandering
across eons,
seeking
home