Make-believe cadaver scent


I dream death smells like those 

for rescue dogs, miasmatic saviors


of the lost, cheated, forsaken,

strayed. Finding the vanished


in avalanche, flood, fire,

quake, storm. Scents so strong


salvation turns out to be moot,

reclaimed life after breathlessness  


just one more of your lies. Dogs,

can choose kennel, put rescue aside,


gnaw on rotted bones, sleep -- 

don't dare dream they bury


those that know cuckold 

deep in the blackened snow.                          

                            Timothy Pilgrim