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