Making cadaver scents

 

Concoct new death smells

to train young rescue dogs, 

 

saviors of those forsaken,

strayed, lost. The dead, vanished

 

into bottles of avalanche, flood,

fire, storm. Scents so strong

 

salvation turns out to be moot,

reclaimed life after breathlessness  

 

just one more lie. Allow those left

to put mission aside, gnaw bone,

 

sleep. To dream cuckolds are alive,

buried in blackened snow, deep.                          

                            Timothy Pilgrim