Here I shall end my dragon-breath days, scorched cave,
cursing the apocrypha that I’ll never set straight.
No chance now to claim the kills of yesterdays!
Laboratory men will mock my skeleton, speculate
about my belly’s contents in connection with the unaccounted-for
farmer’s son. Attribute it all to an Alsatian gone wrong.
Had they only seen me hunt by night, breenging at cattle,
foxes, the lost, their gods, they might know the sorcery
of my bones, whose souterrains I commando crawl, past cartilage,
past vein, to darkest space that neither they nor death will ever find.