An Atheist Rite

Spend my cold corpse.   Carve me no epitaph
But cuts of life.      Pack lungs and living heart
To breath new spirit    in a flatlined chest.

As dear a coin is blood.      Deposit it
On frozen terms,            faith, for a fatal day
When someone else deserves    my second chance.

Grace not the grisly off-cuts    with a grave.
No human hides inside          heaped-compost bones.
Release that rigor'd hand.     My deeds remain.