I’d pass it on the mission trail— br             half-decomposed, green burr-like eyes br beyond my thoughts or pity, tail br             curled into questions only flies br would answer, as they staked their claim br             to rotting tissue. Food for worms, br and mocked by summer’s honey flame, br             it had no choice but come to terms br with piecemeal dissolution. Those br             loud buzzes echoed in my ears br until it circled and then rose, br             converting me—some thirty years br since—into the lone passerby br             and witness, ever on my way br from daily service, like the sky br             itself on resurrection day.