Mama,
he’s not like
the other coroners.

Took me upstairs
and showed me
his coelacanth.

Sutured the last
of the suitors at sunup.
Straddled the strata,

solved for salve.
Same river begging
to be taken back.

Prayed effigy, efficacy,
something to sign for.
Bodies? Flutter fodder.

Fit start to endgame.
Last rites, riots,
stage left in a whisper,

best left beheaded,
behest left unsung.
Secured the parameters,

opened the aperture,
cut me a switch
and learned luck

a new trick.
Wind turned tail,
broke stride and won

over, air on the side
of the nacreous acreage,
my far cry.