Taxidermy

What will you do with your body after death?
Recall the jungly pond you fished, the bass
you brained against a rock: flat eyes, hinged mouth,
pulped nerve, last twitch, the mucus-mess
strummed to liquid music by the breeze.
That was your body too. Recall the deer
you spine-shot. Climb in behind its eyes.
Distill the dark and chew the atmosphere.
The dragging legs, the dull blunt crunch
of fallen leaves: that was your body too.
Recall the limbs you’ve loved, their sheen, your hunch
that something in them lasts, which can’t ring true.
Your mind might gag as soon as beauty starts.
But smooth your ribs. A jump suggests a heart.