October Death

1 Rain for weeks bruised October. The burden of bitter air spewed from the drain of my swollen yard. Already the birds had turned to pirates. I saw the night let a blind rag wing dive from a tree into the rapids of a sidewalk, rolling, crumbling like a mad leaf. 2 The afternoon had cleared and isolated my yard in cold light. Wet death had made no ceremony for the rigid squirrel. Murky death had stolen its eyes. Hard death had robbed the squirrel. I rolled the item in newspaper. Thoughtless death into the trash bag with Styrofoam and Reynolds Wrap. 3 Living wavered on a matchstick. On an evening some flickering things were extinguished.