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