Another Birth

“. . . were we led all that way for 
Birth or Death?” 
            T. S. Eliot, “Journey of the Magi’ 

They dream of going hack. 
            The bars on their beds 
            are fingers before a face. 
Their knees rise up toward chins 
            and their bones memorize 
            the angles that bring heels 
to hips and knees to collarbone. 

Gently their muscle shrinks 
            simple enough to rock 
            on the tide they lost 
with striding spines and shins. 
            Oh, remember the round hills 
            like a young mother’s breasts, 
and hidden sky, a lake of fresh milk.