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.”
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