Shultz and me found the corpse the first time
Lying with coins on its eyes in a mostly burnt house
Decently wrapped in an unbleached shroud. The Corporal
Spoke a few words and we buried it beneath a yew.
We found the same corpse – well, it looked the same –
In a field. It looked less peaceful than the first
Its fingers clutched tight around its scythe-handle.
We were being pursued so simply threw some sand on it.
The third corpse was shuffling cards at a crossroads
Grains of sand were caught in its hair. We didn’t speak
But it gave me a shrewd glance as we passed.
Time is a left-handed relation of mine and that night
Dropped by to visit in my dreams, not as an man
But as a kid, with a bag of marbles and some bent nails
Which he seemed to feel were valuable.
“Unchancy,” he said, “finding the same corpse
More than once. If you find it again, ask it
Why it had my scythe. Perhaps it’s kin.”